Strap in and prepare for the void. Outer Order Video just served up a double feature that feels like being spiritually dissected by a scalpel dipped in blood and stardust. One is apocalyptic pulp painted in technicolor nightmares; the other is an erotic death march through the psyche. Together, they’ll flay your nerves, peel back your skin, and whisper truth into your marrow.
Goke, Body Snatcher from Hell (1968)
You want doom? Goke delivers. This Japanese sci-fi/horror hybrid is pure cinematic annihilation: a passenger plane crashes in an unnamed wasteland, a UFO arrives, and humanity is judged. There’s a wound in the sky, a silver alien goo that slithers into skulls, and a creeping sense that we brought this on ourselves.
It’s garish, brutal, and deeply moral without ever being preachy. The characters are walking archetypes—politicians, soldiers, businessmen—all stripped to their cowardice and cruelty. The aliens don’t destroy humanity. We do that on our own. The Gokemidoro are just here to clean up the mess.
Visually, it’s psychotronic heaven: vibrant reds, eerie landscapes, and that iconic forehead-splitting possession. It’s The Twilight Zone on acid with a dash of anti-imperialist venom.
In the Realm of the Senses (1976)
Nagisa Oshima’s infamous film isn’t about sex. It’s about obsession. Desire as vortex. Love as doom. Based on a true story from 1930s Japan, it follows a hotel maid and her employer into a spiral of erotic intensity so consuming it obliterates everything—identity, reality, even life itself.
This is not titillation. The unsimulated sex is raw, matter-of-fact, and strangely formal. The film unfolds like a trance, drifting between passion and possessiveness until the climax (in every sense) leaves you stunned, maybe even shaken.
Oshima doesn’t moralize. He doesn’t judge. He just watches as two people vanish inside one another and leave only ritual behind.
The Pairing
This one’s not for tourists. Outer Order knows exactly what they’re doing. Goke gives you external apocalypse—humans reduced to monsters in the face of cosmic horror. In the Realm of the Senses gives you internal apocalypse—lovers consumed by their own bottomless need.
Both are about the body: violated, invaded, obsessed over, destroyed. Both ask: how far can we go before we’re no longer human?
Spoiler alert: we’re already there.
Final Verdict:
10/10 – A double feature like a slow, holy burn. Apocalyptic horror and erotic surrender, back-to-back. You leave the theater hollowed out, eyes wide, breath slow. Transcendence and terror in equal measure.
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