Vitriolage is almost impossible to watch, and yet the craft behind it (particularly the smooth, slicing camera-work) to some extent diffuses the misogynistic overtures of the narrative. It's a breakup movie in which the man's feelings of betrayal and rage are powerfully externalized and directed against the female form. In terms of surface detail, the fetishization of the torture implements ally it with the likes of Saw, Hostel, and their ilk, but the approach is intellectually distanced, so that it almost resembles a deconstruction of the torture genre. (Remember, this is the same director who gave us a sensitive Carver adaptation.) The viewer's identification with the victim builds to an almost unendurable degree, and yet, at the precise moment all hope evaporates, Goyins takes us beyond fear, beyond punishment. A near masterpiece of discomfort.
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