Slaughter Disc: The 2005 Porn-Horror With a Transparent DVD

Slaughter Disc is a 2005 film written, directed, and produced by David Kwitmire. It locks hardcore sex footage to supernatural horror. The device is a DVD of extreme pornography supposedly banned in multiple countries. The disc starts rewriting the room, and the person watching ends up inside it. For adult viewers who know BDSM and fetish culture, this is not a negotiated scene from a bedroom. It is a snuff-style story about media that infects. The sex on the disc is predatory and fatal. It is not a lesson in how anything is done.

Michael Brichums is a college student with a sex addiction. He misses a date with his girlfriend Carrie because he is masturbating to clown porn, and she dumps him. In a sex shop he finds a magazine featuring Andromeda Strange. The clerk says her work is so extreme that obscenity law keeps it off the shelf, and that it may only be available online. After Michael leaves, that “clerk” vanishes. A real employee comes out of the washroom, finds a receipt nobody can account for, and the implication is that whatever served Michael only looked human. At home he orders one of Andromeda’s DVDs. It arrives strangely transparent.

The first viewing: Andromeda masturbates until she bleeds, then cuts her own wrist and throat with a straight razor. Michael is disturbed. Days later he watches a scarred, demonic Andromeda perform oral sex on a bound, gagged man and cut his throat after he climaxes. The next day Michael oversleeps. The television is still on, and Andromeda is on the screen kissing it. Chronic lateness gets him fired. His friend John invites him to a bar. Michael leaves, looks back, and Andromeda is staring out of the set. John never shows and does not answer the phone. Michael drinks alone, goes home, vomits, cannot sleep, and plays the disc again. This time the bound man is John. Andromeda rapes him, beats him with a hammer, and eats brain matter. Michael tries to treat it as effects until the television and a call from Andromeda lead him to John’s remains. He calls 911 and Carrie. Carrie does not believe him. The operator is skeptical but sends a unit. Back home the TV shows Andromeda molesting an unconscious Carrie and cutting her throat. Michael destroys the disc and unplugs the set. It does not stop. Andromeda appears in the room and seduces him. He asks whether he has to die, and says he does not want this to end. She answers that he is already dead. The frame cuts to the couple on the television while Michael’s mutilated body lies on the couch. When the police arrive, the body is gone. Detectives bag the DVD and the magazine. A post-credits return to the sex shop: a new customer asks about Andromeda, and the gaunt man behind the counter is Mike. He warns the customer that her video is definitely not for the weak-hearted. The curse has closed its loop.

Robert Williams plays Michael. Jewels MacKenzie plays Carrie. Caroline Pierce plays Andromeda Strange. Kristen Quitmeyer plays a neighbor, Travis Lee plays John, Chris Spoto plays a delivery guy, and there are others around a man who is steadily more alone. The bound and gagged men on the disc are victims in a fantasy of predation, not negotiated bottoms. Andromeda turns alt-porn signs — scars, a demonic body, the myth of being banned in many countries — into a cursed object. Bondage and extreme sex are how the horror travels. The erotic charge is written as lethal and predatory.

The reviews split. Adult Video News gave it four out of five and still wrote that this really is not a good movie. What disturbed that review most was a very definite anti-porn message: watch banned extreme porn, then lose your job, your friends, your lover, and your body, and become the person who sells the curse onward. That is closer to videotape-horror folklore than to sex-positive dungeon education. Digital Retribution also gave it four, and called it the first film that reviewer had seen merge horror and porn without collapsing into farce. The Video Graveyard gave it two: an interesting premise that is not really developed, though the suspense about what happens next holds. The Worldwide Celluloid Massacre called it dull, neither erotic nor scary, with weak gore. Soiled Sinema filed it with the bad-image, bad-sound pictures that do not arouse. Caroline Pierce’s Andromeda is a lethal alt-porn succubus. The transparent disc is the carrier. At the end the victim is the one behind the counter, warning the next person.