Rating: NC-17 | Runtime: 104 minutes
Release Date: June 16th, 2010 (Serbia) / May 13th, 2011 (USA)
Studio: Invincible Pictures
Director(s): Srdjan Spasojevic
Writer(s): Aleksandar Radivojevic & Srdjan Spasojevic

Victim is the priciest sell in the world.

I really hope Eli Roth isn’t watching because Srdjan Spasojevic has just made Hostel look like a child’s fairy tale. After seeing A Serbian Film, I can only imagine directors of the torture porn genre salivating at the prospect of going even further—if it’s possible to fathom a “further.” I don’t think I could handle a response after the horrors of the final forty minutes of this wanton display of pedophilia, necrophilia, rape, and murder. I’m repressing them as I type.

The words from the film within the film’s director Vukmir (Sergej Trifunovic) labeling of this unmasked tragedy as a “happy Serbian family” make me want to somehow clean the filth, guilt, and simple fact I finished the film at all away. The worst part, however, is that the final result also proves to be a masterpiece of its messed-up genre. A film daring to go where no film has gone: as far towards hell as one can get. It’s a triumph.

Milos (Srdjan Todorovic) is an aging porn star who’s given up the life besides an occasional romp to pay bills and send his son to singing lessons. He’s settled down with the one woman he loves out of the many he’s had sex with over time. Lejla (Katarina Zutic) accepts his profession so much that they don’t yell when walking in on their son watching an old DVD of dad “beating” a woman. They simply tell him it’s all a fantasy. A cartoon for adults. The boy’s mention of wheels spinning in his groin area elicit smirks because his parents believe sexuality is a part of being human. They want him to experience his body’s natural inclinations.

Lejla is confident her husband is telling the truth about not missing the work because he’s made a new life with them. And the occasional shoot he does take for money always puts the family’s financial wellbeing first. So, when an old co-worker/friend comes to town with a proposition for quality work with a true artist, Milos and his wife listen. Marija (Jelena Gavrilovic) obviously misses her old stud partner and vouches for Vukmir’s talent. Between that and the money being offered, they cannot say no.

Never fully on board, though, Milos wrestles with the contract. Vukmir says all the right things to build this has-been up as the greatest porn actor who ever lived. He tells him that his presence inherently proves how art still exists in pornography because being a professional who made his actresses fall in love with him, hate him, and still come running back is exactly what sold product and made him a target of Vukmir’s new, unique format.

The director has a clientele that puts up money to buy his specifically catered work. They know what they want and he knows what to give them. Unable to explain the full scope of the project besides vague declarations of genius, Vukmir asks Milos to trust him and just do what he does. The cameras will be in place, his co-stars will be at their marks, an earpiece will give him direction and motivation, and his machismo should do the rest. It will be a film with minimal edits—real people having real sex. What Milos doesn’t learn until a couple days in, however, is that he will be a predator lusting to take everyone in front of him.

Spasojevic and co-writer Aleksandar Radivojevic’s script slowly progresses to an intense final half of memory recall and videotape viewings of a drug-induced night of terror. Before getting there, though, they first bring us into this world by allowing us to see Milos as the kindhearted husband and father he is. He refuses sexual advances from Marija, casually deflects words from his police officer brother Marko (Slobodan Bestic) to ignore his jealousy and desire for Lejla, and decides to just do the job and cash out.

But the stakes begin to gradually elevate once security guards in black become camera operators following Milos’ every move. The first location is an orphanage for troubled children where a young girl (Andjela Nenadovic’s Jeca) is berated by one woman and shielded from the abuse by another before going straight towards his fly and leaving him confused about what’s going on. And when the girl returns to sit on a chair with her own lustful expression as Milos is pleasured in a darkened room, violence rears its head. Real blood is drawn for the first time and the film’s star realizes he must quit.

Things have gotten too much for this sex machine and yet I almost felt cheated things hadn’t gone further since I had heard such horror stories about the film. Well, no sooner had the thought crossed my mind then Milos wakes up bloodied and bruised in his own bed, completely wiped clean of how he got there. The industrial clangs of a score amplify and sharply edited glimpses of the night before screech across the screen and his mind. He retraces his steps through these memories so we can experience them too.

Sex drugs are administered. We hear Vukmir berating everyone for more abuse. And Milos becomes a monster ruled by his libido who destroys everything around him. Th is so-called “artistic” work becomes an elaborate snuff film reenacted in short spurts of pain, horror, and ecstasy. “Victim” becomes the name of the game and Milos its oppressor. And just when you think they’ve gone too far with winces of agony and thoughts of stopping the film, the filmmakers take you even lower into the depths of misogyny.

A Serbian Film is a gratuitous escapade of sex and violence that’s not for the squeamish. Todorovic is a force of emotion and physicality—equal parts lover and menace and often switching between them from scene to scene. Once he goes through the second act’s replaying of deeds that cannot be undone, we instantly see his horrified reactions after watching what created them. The women involved all exude erotic desire, but anyone who comes away aroused needs to see a doctor immediately to question their sociopathic tendencies.

Many scenes are unforgettable. Vukmir’s crazed eyes while speaking about a pornographic revolution and the prospect of “Newborn Porn.” The unfathomable body count, surprising shifts in allegiances, and an incestual bombshell of a finale. The price of their art becomes more than just the souls of those involved onscreen, though. As the final shot attests, you may find you’ve become the true audience for whom Milos is performing. Everything occurs so you can watch it, leaving you to helplessly question your own moral compass. That fact alone proves how relevant it is as a piece of cinematic genius.

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Srdjan Todorovic in A SERBIAN FILM.