<\/p>\n
The funniest thing about Todd Rohal\u2019s \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d \u2014 alas, one of the only funny things about this impressively sick but tiresomely self-amused celebration of bad taste \u2014\u00a0is that the most controversial aspect of the movie isn\u2019t its title, or its demented story about a gun-packing mother who forces a random woman to have sex with her monstrous son (imagine if the Sarlaac from \u201cStar Wars\u201d had a baby with the alien from \u201cMac and Me,<\/a>\u201d nipples and boils everywhere, diaper oozing wet shit, just a gaping hole full of hotdogs where his dick should be), or even how brutally it treats the sex slave\u2019s elementary school-age daughter, Belinda, who will be cooked in an oven if her mom doesn\u2019t comply with their captor\u2019s demands).<\/p>\n No, the most controversial aspect of \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d is that it uses some very crude and obvious AI<\/a> for what amounts to roughly 90 seconds of screen time. A number of festival viewers were outraged. I guess some things are just too obscene for audiences to stomach.<\/p>\n More from IndieWire<\/strong><\/p>\n Like everything else in Rohal\u2019s<\/a> film, the AI-afflicted scenes are designed to triple-underline their own grotesqueness. A prologue modeled after an AMC theater pre-show (\u201cNo jacking off in the theater,\u201d \u201cDo not pee or crap in your seat,\u201d \u201cOur restrooms are now closed\u201d) is filled out with inhuman crowds, while the characters from Bernice\u2019s favorite show \u2014\u00a0a \u201cVeggietales\u201d-esque abomination called \u201cThe Meatie Mates\u201d \u2014 pop up throughout the movie in increasingly artificial form, their every appearance better reflecting the ghoulish slop that today\u2019s children eagerly consume on YouTube.<\/p>\n As in Radu Jude\u2019s recent \u201cDracula,\u201d the technology isn\u2019t used as a shortcut (if anything, incorporating AI made Rohal\u2019s work considerably more difficult), but rather as a commentary on the soullessness of modern \u201cart.\u201d Reactive to a world in which people have become more offended by form than content, \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d exists to explore the efficacy of shock value at a time when image-making itself has become so repulsive and society has ingested its own memetic sickliness as a sign of the future.<\/p>\n Rohal wants to push back against the numbing dystopia of Project 2025, so he\u2019s cooked up a collective experience \u2014 one that will tour across the country, advertising its lack of streaming availability as its greatest hook \u2014\u00a0designed to startle us back to our senses and restore the sheer joy of transgression. Little other joy is on offer (either within this movie, or outside of it), but \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d feels like it was only made to indulge in the fact that it still could be.<\/p>\n So while I may not have particularly enjoyed the experience of watching it, I have no choice but to admit that it does, indeed, exist. Critics are raving \u201cThis is a real thing that people made.\u201d Put it on the poster.<\/p>\n Of course, this material didn\u2019t originate with Rohal; an idea as pure and profound as \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d has to come from somewhere. Usually it\u2019s from a divine vision or the liquid meth they sell at the front of America\u2019s finest gas stations. In this case, it came from a graphic novel: Johnny Ryan\u2019s \u201cFuck My Son: A Tale of Terror, Issue One,\u201d which Rohal has faithfully adapted like a sacred text. And that\u2019s just as well, because the movie has no interest in making such intellectual property more palatable to a wider audience.<\/p>\n Either you want to see a movie called \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d or you don\u2019t (\u201cIt\u2019s just garbage,\u201d the director has said<\/a>. \u201cIt\u2019s made by trashmen for trashmen\u201d), and Rohal\u2019s film is squarely targeted at the people who might conceivably pay for a ticket; the aforementioned pre-show offers viewers the choice of \u201cPerv-o-Vision\u201d glasses that make all of the characters naked, or a \u201cNude Blok\u201d edition for those who pray to \u201cfill their lives with blissful ignorance and intolerance\u201d (the film\u2019s spirit all but requires comparisons to John Waters, even if its execution cleaves a lot closer to early James Gunn).<\/p>\n The world of \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d is a small and seedy place where every mote of innocence only exists as an invitation for perversion, or worse. We first meet Sandi (Tipper Newton, recalling Sarah Silverman in her ability to conflate innocence with repulsion) as she takes little Bernice (Kynzie Colmery) dress shopping, where \u2014\u00a0of course \u2014\u00a0a peeper is spying on all of the dressing rooms. Shot like an \u201980s Z-picture but always self-indulgent enough to make clear that it\u2019s in on the joke, the movie soon introduces its leading ladies to an overbearing mother (a Chris Farley-esque Robert Longstreet, growling in drag) who\u2019s fallen and can\u2019t get up.<\/p>\n But it\u2019s a trap! The mother lures Sandi and Bernice to her van, knocks them out, and takes them to the remote farmhouse where she lives with her mutant son Fabian (Steve Little). There\u2019s so much sex in the world, and she can\u2019t stand the thought that her sweet child will never get to have any of it. The mother wheels Fabian in, places Bernice nearby with a front-row view, and \u2014\u00a0wait for it \u2014\u00a0demands that Sandi fuck her son. Bareback. \u201cPerson to Person\u201d star George Sample III eventually shows up to round out the cast, but that\u2019s really about all there is to it. As positioned to Sandi, the terms couldn\u2019t be simpler: \u201cThe sooner you fuck my son, the sooner I\u2019ll let your daughter out of the oven.\u201d What\u2019s a mother to do?<\/p>\n Rohal pays lip-service to the idea that parents will do anything for their children, but this movie is much less interested in developing its themes than it is in watching Sandi fish around Fabian\u2019s innards for his Lovecraftian penis (spoiler alert: she finds it, and the massive appendage becomes a veritable character in its own right). Is it gross? Very.<\/p>\n But the grossness doesn\u2019t scale at a particularly engaging rate, and while Rohal\u2019s agenda required a certain amount of cheekiness to validate the fun of its own shock value, it\u2019s hard to overlook the reality that \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d is far less disturbing than the movie promised by its title. For all of its eldritch horrors (Fabian\u2019s penis eventually penetrates almost everything you can imagine, with child rape being the most obvious red line that Rohal won\u2019t cross), this heightened story is too \u201cfun\u201d to be even half as fucked up as the things we read in the headlines every day, and not funny enough for its increasingly whacked out \u201cWTF\u201d-ness to be enjoyable on its own terms. Things get wild because they can, and then slaphappy because they can\u2019t be anything else.<\/p>\n When a title card pops up that reads: \u201cThe Ending: Part I,\u201d the joke is that a movie with so little substance would require something as pompous as a multi-tiered epilogue.<\/p>\n What meaning there is behind \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d is easy enough to understand: Enjoy this kind of garbage while you can, because it won\u2019t be long before late night TV hosts are locked in jail, Donald Trump starts talking about Eddington as if it were a real town he saw on Fox News, and everyone who saw \u201cOne Battle After Another\u201d is labeled as a card-carrying member of Antifa (the \u201cA\u201d in \u201cAMC A-List\u201d stands for \u201cAnarchy\u201d). Appreciate when slop could still be a display of defiance instead, and not just the visual language of cultural defeat. See \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d not because it\u2019s good, but rather because it refuses to pretend that it isn\u2019t bad. If only that argument were enough to convince me that it shouldn\u2019t have been better.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d opens at the IFC Center in New York City on Thursday, October 16, before traveling to other theaters around the country. Its full touring schedule can be found here<\/a>.<\/p>\n Want to stay up to date on IndieWire\u2019s film\u00a0reviews<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0and critical thoughts?\u00a0Subscribe here<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0to our newly launched newsletter, In Review by David Ehrlich, in which our Chief Film Critic and Head Reviews Editor rounds up the best new reviews and streaming picks along with some exclusive musings \u2014\u00a0all only available to subscribers.<\/p>\n Best of IndieWire<\/strong><\/p>\n Sign up for Indiewire’s Newsletter<\/a>. For the latest news, follow us on Facebook<\/a>, Twitter<\/a>, and Instagram<\/a>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n \u2018 The preceding article may include information circulated by third parties \u2019 <\/em><\/p>\n \u2018 Some details of this article were extracted from the following source ca.news.yahoo.com \u2019 <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The funniest thing about Todd Rohal\u2019s \u201cFuck My Son!\u201d \u2014 alas, one of the only funny things about this impressively sick but tiresomely self-amused celebration of bad taste \u2014\u00a0is that the most controversial aspect of the movie isn\u2019t its title, or its demented story about a gun-packing mother who forces a random woman to have […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2092047,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"jnews-multi-image_gallery":[],"jnews_single_post":[],"jnews_primary_category":[],"jnews_social_meta":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[25173],"tags":[394610,394609,394608],"class_list":["post-2092046","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-artists","tag-controversial-aspect","tag-fuck-my-son","tag-todd-rohal"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/Can-a-Movie-Be-Gross-Enough-That-AI-Isnt-the.jpeg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2092046","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2092046"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2092046\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2092048,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2092046\/revisions\/2092048"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2092047"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2092046"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2092046"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2092046"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Grade: C-<\/h2>\n