Pigeon Shrine FrightFest Film Review

Taboo-shredding possession film that weaponises deep psychological trauma to the point of fetishism.

Mikey’s ‘Mommy’ is on the turn. Her facial sores, maniacal mannerisms, and random floor pissing point to demonic influences. As intertwined traumas converge, a dark tapestry of vile generational debasement is dragged into the public domain.

Pierre Tsigaridis‘ perverse possession flick exploits physical and mental abuse as entertainment, suggesting our hypocritical society is riddled with a similar moral bankruptcy. He shows no mercy to his characters or audience in graphically mapping the earthly source of the theological malevolence.

In Mikey’s distressing world, supernatural elements serve as a symbolic conduit for tracing the literal roots of murderous evil. As such, the film majestically morphs from demonic horror into a slasher-origin story.

Structurally, the film takes risks with its shifting timelines, but the plot remains secretive rather than confusing. One significant change of tack seems tonally jarring until we realise it’s just a necessary watering station in a marathon of unsettling set-pieces.

The movie leans heavily on disturbing imagery to embolden its agenda. Mikey’s dilapidated abode is a squalid minefield with jump scares lurking in every mouldy recess. The visual style is no less arresting when we switch to body count mode as the killer’s garb evolves circumstantially into an iconic slasher mask. It’s a beautifully judged touch of parody that also provides a moment of sly humour in a trough of abject misery.

It is a very long time since I have been able to draw justifiable parallels with Martyrs, but Traumatika shares equitably fucked up DNA. Indeed, large portions of Traumatika mirror the first metaphorical movement of Laugier’s symphony of horror.

Martyrs was a septic release mechanism for the director’s intense depression, and the ruthless reflection of this was the organic architect of its nihilistic power. The raw subject matter of Traumatika provides a similar naturalistic nightmare fuel to turbo-charge the terror. Both films share the same unshakeable audacity to allow a vile premise to navigate moral crossroads, no matter how dangerous.

Traumatika is a punishing pepper spray of a film that offers little respite as it stings the senses. It punishes with twisted visuals and an eardrum-mashing soundscape to explore unthinkable trauma by inflicting it upon us. Tsigaridis undoubtedly has cathartic intentions in showcasing this shocking emotional damage, but he is also determined to squeeze all available triggers to maximise bullet spread.

It makes for a barn-burning horror experience, tigerish and cruel, that more than lives up to its evocative title.