![]() ![]() The film continues in a series of revolting events that seem more NC-17 than cutely edgy, climaxing when Helen accidentally tears her anus (yes, her anus) while hastily shaving. ![]() And, as if things couldn't get any more nauseating, she decides to rub herself around the oh, never mind. In the opening alone, a barefoot Helen attends an underground public bathroom so repulsive that it makes a backwoods 7-11 restroom seem pristine. At the center of the filth is Helen Memel (Carla Juri), a sexually rambunctious 18-year-old who spends her free time exploring her body in the most disgusting ways imaginable. But Wetlands can be so appallingly gross that any form of realness seem to be covered in some STDs you caught from a smelly hippie down the street. ![]() Part of me wishes it was dirty like a 1960s sex comedy, provocative but not overtly so. It goes through stretches where it's earnest, legitimately touching, but it also has a tendency to turn around the next minute and tell us about another bodily dysfunction that we'd rather not hear about when we're eating. But under Wnendt's authority, it's likable, even if much of it is frustrating. Wetlands dares to call itself a romantic comedy, a coming-of-age story, a family drama, and a gross-out assembly line, and if it were written by someone like Seth Rogen then maybe, just maybe, it would have turned into a sh*t covered disaster. Wetlands is the kind of movie where things like jizz-covered pizzas, anal tearings, vegetable-based masturbation, purposeful vaginal dirtying, and other taboos are thrown into our face and someone, most likely David Wnendt, wants us to accept the graphic vulgarity like we accepted There's Something About Mary or one of those eye-roll inducing Hangover films. ![]()
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