Laura (Rose) has problems. Her boyfriend, Antoine (Tousignant), is an abusive fuck; her career as a sculptor is on hold because she has a massive case of artist's block; oh, and she's suffering from a steadily advancing case of decomposition. Yep, you read that right: she may not technically be dead - she still has a pulse and is moving around - but her skin is growing increasingly blotchy, bits of her are beginning to fall off (thank heavens for Mason jars!)... and then there's the smell. How's a girl supposed to cope with all this? As a showreel for some fine make-up effects, it works well, to the extent you'll probably find yourself wrinkling your nose to avoid the stench you could swear is being emitted from the screen. The problem is, that's really about all you get here. I understand fully the metaphors here: Laura is dead inside, and it is her soul, her hopes and dreams and her humanity which is rotting. It does not require a 100-minute running time for me to grasp thos concept.
There's definitely some early Cronenberg influences at work in this Canadian film, in the way internal struggles and issues turn into physical modifications e.g. The Rage. However, in his work, these were the starting point for an exploration of the underling issues, where here, there is little or no development of the ideas, and as a result, the film sits there, with all the narrative force of roadkill. For much of the film, Laura doesn't even interact with anyone else, she just wanders round her apartment, rotting slowly. There's one somewhat amusing scene where a guy who has expressed an interest in her, pops round, and she gives him a quick blow-job. Okay, I found it amusing - I guess Canadians do have lower standards of personal hygiene - I'm less certain quite whether that was the intent of the makers. Much the same can be said for the movie overall: this is both painfully obvious and annoyingly obtuse, which I guess merits a "Well done"? SFX guy Remy Couture has a great career in front of him. Falardeau? Not so much.