The Witches of Batshit
A major achievement in sunny wretchedness, Álex de la Iglesia's splatter-comedy Witching & Bitching projectile pukes its outrages at you with a gusto recalling the early days of those (sadly) reformed upchuckers Sam Raimi and Peter Jackson. De la Iglesia doesn't share those directors' interest in making clear just why characters do the dumb things they're doing, but he's a whiz at house-of-horrors hilarity: Eyes peep up from scummed-over toilet drains, a gummy-mouthed matriarch menaces the leads after slapping in a grill toothed like a bear-trap, and all the flesh-gouging and man-eating proves as amiable as it is protracted.
It's fun even when it makes no sense. In the thick of the first of many mad climaxes, the alpha dopey hero, bound to a chair and expecting to be the main course at a witches' feast, begins digging a dinner knife into the wrist of the beta dopey hero tied up next to him. He's not sawing away at the ropes, he's just grinding through his buddy's flesh, for reasons known only to de la Iglesia, but at least this creates the opportunity for some choice squishing from the foley artists.
What story there is follows inept crooks after a clever/dumb heist in Madrid: Pretending to be street performers dressed as SpongeBob Squarepants, a plastic army man and a silver spray-painted Christ, a few misogynistic louts hold up a pawnshop, and then try to escape to France with a sack of hocked wedding rings—and Sergio (Gabriel Delgado), the 8-year-old whom lead crook Jose (Hugo Silva) brought along, as it was his weekend with the boy. They're fleeing the cops and Sergio's furious mother (the wonderful Macarena Gómez, as off-kilter as a pinball machine just before it tilts). As they go, the fellows bitch about the awfulness of women while being so plainly, hilariously awful themselves, you'd be churlish to take offense. (Yet.)
Witching lex de la Iglesia; and stars Hugo Silva, Mario Casas, Jaime Ordez, Macarena Gmez, Carolina Bang, Gabriel Delgado and Carmen Maura.