Flesh-eating cannibal hookers! Wow! It’s a great day when I can actually use the phrase “Flesh-eating cannibal hookers” and not look like a total lunatic. And indeed, this is one of those times. I haven’t seen anything so thoroughly eighties since… well… since 1989!
In this film we get to see an insurance agent who clearly hates his job, has literally no luck with the ladies and is down to calling escort services (where he has an ACCOUNT NUMBER, poor bastard!). He’s about to run through the list of hookers when he runs into our flesh-eating cannibal friend, and once that happens, well, all manner of weirdness breaks loose.
“Eat Your Heart Out” starts out as a spectacular downer. Seriously– we know life sucks for eighty to ninety percent of the population. We know most people get up and go to a job they can’t stand every day, they get nothing but crap from their respective opposite gender, they get walked over, pushed around, stepped on–pick your favorite term–it all ends the same way.
And yet, almost halfway through, it decides to pick up. There’s almost a reason to hope for our poor miserable downtrodden insurance agent. But then, just as quickly as we find hope for our poor miserable downtrodden insurance agent, the movie decides to wing right around to creepy. Which is actually great, from a narrative standpoint, how fast we go from hopeless to hopeful to sheer balls-out lunacy.
When I say “sheer balls-out lunacy,” I mean sheer balls-out lunacy. This is sheer balls-out lunacy on a grand and epic scale, with cannibals and transvestites and the most unlikely killing machine ever.
Which leads to an excellent summation, actually: “Eat Your Heart Out” is just sheer balls-out lunacy. It’s a horrible, bloodsoaked lovesick mess. It brings a whole horrible new meaning to the phrase “love hurts.” In the end, “Eat Your Heart Out” is a chick flick that no woman would watch.