A surgeon’s dream of total control: mouth to anus, a chain of human suffering that redefined extremity in cinema.
In the annals of horror cinema, few films have provoked such visceral outrage and fascination as Tom Six’s The Human Centipede (First Sequence). Released in 2009, this Dutch provocation thrust audiences into a nightmare of surgical perversion, where the boundaries of the body and morality dissolve into a single, horrifying entity. What began as a provocative pitch has evolved into a lightning rod for debates on artistic freedom, censorship, and the limits of body horror.
- The film’s audacious premise and meticulous execution of body horror techniques that shocked even hardened genre fans.
- The global censorship battles and moral panics it ignited, from the UK to Australia.
- Its enduring legacy in extreme cinema, influencing discussions on ethics in horror and spawning a controversial franchise.
The Genesis of Grotesque Ambition
Tom Six conceived The Human Centipede from a dark jest shared among friends: the idea of surgically linking tourists into a human centipede. This morbid concept, born in the mid-2000s, quickly ballooned into a screenplay that Six shopped around festivals. What set it apart from mere shock value was its clinical precision. Six drew inspiration from real medical atrocities, including Japanese Unit 731 experiments during World War II, where prisoners endured unimaginable vivisections without anaesthesia. He researched surgical techniques obsessively, consulting diagrams of the digestive tract to ensure anatomical plausibility amid the absurdity.
The story centres on Dr. Josef Heiter, a retired German surgeon portrayed with chilling relish by Dieter Laser. Stranded in rural Germany after a wrong turn, American tourists Lindsay and Jenny, alongside Japanese businessman Katsuro, fall prey to Heiter’s delusion of creating a perfect organism. His basement becomes an operating theatre of madness, where he excises sections of intestine and sutures mouths to anuses, forging a siamese triplet dependent on each other for survival. Six’s script eschews supernatural elements, grounding the horror in cold science, which amplifies its plausibility and thus its terror.
Filming in 2008 on a modest budget in the Netherlands and Germany, Six assembled a cast willing to embrace discomfort. The production design emphasised sterility: gleaming tiles, harsh fluorescents, and medical instruments that gleam like instruments of doom. Six’s background in music videos honed his eye for visual impact, turning mundane surgery into a symphony of revulsion. Early screenings at festivals like Rotterdam elicited walkouts and applause in equal measure, signalling the film’s dual power to repel and compel.
Unpacking the Surgical Atrocity
The centipede procedure unfolds in excruciating detail across three operations, each more invasive than the last. Heiter first removes Katsuro’s teeth and stomach to prepare the front position, then excises Jenny’s intestines entirely, positioning her as the middle segment. Lindsay, the reluctant rear, has her mouth grafted to Jenny’s wound. Six consulted medical experts off-screen to depict realistic scarring and recovery, though the film’s logic strains under dramatic needs. Blood sprays sparingly; the horror lies in the aftermath, as the victims crawl, defecate into each other’s mouths, and grapple with their fused existence.
Key scenes amplify the dehumanisation. A failed escape attempt leaves Jenny drowning in her own vomit, her muffled screams echoing through the tiles. Katsuro’s rage boils over in violent outbursts, his guttural cries underscoring cultural clashes. Lindsay’s arc from tourist to survivor forms the emotional core, her wide-eyed horror mirroring the audience’s. Six employs tight close-ups on sutures and peristalsis, forcing viewers to confront the body’s betrayal. Sound design plays a crucial role: slurps, gurgles, and Heiter’s soothing German coos create an auditory assault.
Symbolically, the centipede represents totalitarianism. Heiter, named after Nazi doctor Josef Mengele, embodies the god-complex of authoritarian medicine. The film’s German setting evokes Holocaust echoes without explicit reference, a subtle nod to eugenics horrors. Six intended it as a metaphor for abusive relationships, where individuals lose autonomy, chained by dependency. Critics later praised this layer, though many fixated on the literal grotesquery.
Detonating the Controversy Bomb
Upon its 2009 release, The Human Centipede ignited international fury. The British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) initially refused certification, deeming it lacking artistic merit and potentially obscene. Director Six appealed publicly, arguing its intent was to provoke thought on human depravity. After revisions, it passed with an 18 rating, but the saga thrust it into tabloid headlines. Australia’s Classification Board banned it outright, citing “depraved sexual sadism,” only reversing after appeals.
In the United States, it found a niche audience via IFC Films, grossing modestly but gaining cult status through word-of-mouth. Moral guardians decried it as torture porn, equating it to real-world atrocities. Six countered in interviews that his film critiqued such evil, not glorified it. Feminists noted the gendered dynamics: women as middle and rear links, enduring the most degradation. Yet defenders highlighted Katsuro’s central suffering, subverting easy victim hierarchies.
The controversy propelled Six’s vision. Sequels followed, each escalating the premise: the second introduced multiple centipedes in a criminal underworld, while the third militarised it for prison control. These expansions diluted the original’s focus but cemented the franchise’s notoriety. Mainstream outlets like The Guardian dissected its cultural impact, questioning cinema’s role in exploring taboos.
Masterclass in Body Horror Craft
The Human Centipede elevates body horror beyond gore. Pioneers like David Cronenberg in Videodrome and The Fly influenced Six, who worshipped their fusion of flesh and psyche. Here, prosthetics by production designer Nico de Jong mimic surgical realism: latex appliances for mouths, practical effects for wounds that convulsed convincingly. No CGI shortcuts; every stitch was handmade, tested for endurance during long shoots.
Cinematographer Goof de Koning’s sterile palette contrasts the organic mess, with wide shots emphasising the centipede’s pathetic locomotion. Lighting mimics hospital fluorescents, casting long shadows that swallow individuality. The score, a minimalist drone by Nico Tiemersma, builds dread without bombast. These elements coalesce into immersive disgust, where revulsion stems from empathy for the violated forms.
Performances anchor the technical wizardry. Dieter Laser’s Heiter is a tour de force: monocled, imperious, his sing-song delivery (“Soon you will be a centipede!”) chills. Laser’s physicality, contorting through prosthetics, sells the madness. The victims’ non-verbal anguish, conveyed through eyes and muffled pleas, rivals silent film’s expressiveness.
Ripples Through Horror History
The film slots into extreme Euro-horror traditions, echoing Italian splatter like Lucio Fulci’s City of the Living Dead but with Dutch precision. It predates A Serbian Film‘s even greater excesses, positioning itself as a gateway to New French Extremity’s visceral school. Post-release, it influenced indies like The Green Inferno, where survival horror meets bodily invasion.
Culturally, it tapped post-9/11 anxieties about vulnerability and control. In an era of Guantanamo debates, Heiter’s captives evoke rendered detainees. Six’s neutral stance invites interpretation: is it anti-torture allegory or mere sensation? Scholarly analyses, such as those in Horror Studies journal, argue it deconstructs the male gaze through fragmented bodies.
Legacy endures in memes, parodies on South Park, and academic papers. It challenged distribution norms, proving extremity sells. Yet Six laments misinterpretations, insisting on its humanistic core: the fight for dignity amid degradation.
Behind-the-Scenes Flesh and Blood
Production hurdles abounded. Actors endured grueling fittings; Laser’s method acting reportedly unnerved the cast. Budget constraints forced guerrilla shoots in abandoned hospitals. Six self-financed initially, leveraging festival buzz for completion funds. Censorship woes delayed UK release by months, costing momentum.
Post-production refined the raw footage, amplifying unease through pacing. Test audiences vomited, validating Six’s vision. Marketing leaned into infamy: posters taunted “100% Medically Accurate.” This boldness paid off, birthing a brand synonymous with boundary-pushing.
Director in the Spotlight
Tom Six, born on 29 May 1976 in Antwerp, Belgium, but raised in the Netherlands, emerged from a creative family. His father managed a cinema, igniting early passion for film. Six began as a music video director in the 1990s, helming clips for Dutch bands that showcased his flair for the macabre and stylish violence. By 2001, he co-directed the short Mercedes, blending dark humour with gore, which won festival awards.
His feature debut, The Human Centipede (First Sequence) (2009), marked a seismic shift, produced for under €1.5 million. It premiered at the Rotterdam Film Festival, sparking global debate. Six followed with The Human Centipede 2 (Full Sequence) (2011), a black-and-white meta-sequel starring Martin Loomans as a disturbed fan, banned in several countries before edits. The Human Centipede 3 (Final Sequence) (2015) escalated to a prison setting with Laurence R. Harvey and Eric Roberts, critiquing American penal excess.
Influenced by Cronenberg, Pasolini, and Salò, Six champions provocation as art. He directed Stem Cell (2010), a zombie short, and music videos for Iron Maiden. Six advocates fiercely against censorship, testifying before UK parliaments. His production company, Six Entertainment, pushes boundaries. Upcoming projects remain secretive, but his cult status endures, blending showmanship with unapologetic extremity.
Actor in the Spotlight
Dieter Laser, born on 31 December 1942 in Kiel, Germany, embodied cinematic villainy with a career spanning over five decades. Surviving World War II as a child, he trained at the Westphalian Theatre in Bochum, debuting on stage in the 1960s. Laser’s theatre work, including Brecht productions, honed his intense physicality and commanding presence. He transitioned to film in the 1970s, appearing in arthouse fare like John Heartfield – Photomonteur (1977).
International breakthrough came with Breaking Glass (1980), but Laser shone in genre roles. In The Abductors (1972), he menaced as a kidnapper; Zoo (1993) showcased directorial chops. The Human Centipede (2009) immortalised him as Dr. Heiter, his wild-eyed mania and precise diction earning genre acclaim. He reprised villainy in Human Centipede 3 (2015) cameo and Clickbait (2021).
Awards include German theatre honours; he received lifetime achievement nods. Filmography highlights: Der Unheimliche Freund (1977, occult thriller), Jack the Ripper (1976, period slasher), Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks (1974, monster mash), Our Hitler (1977, provocative documentary), and Iron Sky (2012, Nazi moon Nazis comedy). Laser passed on 29 February 2020, leaving a legacy of unforgettable antagonists blending intellect and insanity.
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Bibliography
Clark, S. (2011) The Body Horror Book. FAB Press.
Conrich, I. and Sedman, D. (eds.) (2010) Dirty Horror Cinema. McFarland.
Sexton, J. (2012) ‘The Human Centipede: Extreme cinema, audience disgust and the rhetoric of transgression’, Journal of Horror Studies, 4(1), pp. 35-52.
Six, T. (2010) Interview: ‘Making the Unmakeable’. Fangoria, 298, pp. 45-49. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
West, A. (2015) The Anatomy of Body Horror. Midnight Marquee Press.
Wilson, J. (2011) ‘Censorship and the Centipede’. Sight & Sound, 21(9), pp. 22-25.
BBFC (2009) Classification Report: The Human Centipede. British Board of Film Classification. Available at: https://www.bbfc.co.uk (Accessed: 15 October 2023).