Why 'Bathed in Blood' you (and my mother) may be asking yourself.  Why devote an entire blog to the lowest, most visceral, bloody, nasty flicks I can get?  Why the hell not!?  This is ‘Bathed in Blood’.  We’ll be talking about everything and anything gory.  Realistic blood recipes,  terrifying passages from books, gut wrenching scenes from flicks, real life terrors, and whole movies that just drip and ooze with the best of the red will make the cut.  Stick around if you like to see how low we can go with this thing called horror.

First, an introduction.  Hi, good to meet you, I’m Giaco. I love bloody movies.  I love dripping tendons and spurting veins, shredded guts and puke stained victims.  I can’t stand the sight of real blood, naturally, but boy do I like when movies get nasty.

So how does a well meaning, liberally leaning, rationally minded person like myself get so entrenched in gore?  One word: Troma.  The NYC based company, who proclaim themselves (with good reason) the last truly independent movie company, make only the nastiest, most gut wrenching flicks money can buy.

I know this sounds like an ad for Troma, but what can I say? I grew up on the stuff.  My first memory of explicit gore in film brings me back to Troma.  I was twelve, maybe thirteen tops, and our local video store was going out of business.  They had a huge selection of VHS tapes on sale, and one stood out to me.  The Toxic Avenger, for a buck!  Having only a vague memory of the cartoon (the vividly different Toxic Crusaders) I took the plunge.  Maybe it was the gratuitous nudity, maybe it was the foul language, or maybe even the allure of watching a grainy VHS tape I really shouldn’t have been watching, but then and there something changed in me.  I knew, five minutes in, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I loved this movie.

Then, ten minutes in, the teenage punks ran over the little kid’s head with their car. 

“Hooked” isn’t a strong enough word.  “Addicted” comes close.

The carnage was what first took my breath.  There was a great showmanship to it all.  The dismemberments, the disembowelments, the decapitations…they were everything I wanted in fiction; hyper realistic and hyper exaggerated at the same time.  I knew then and there, sitting up watching this blood soaked flick, that I’d found my genre.  This was my esthetic.  I would, forever more, be Bathed in Blood.