Collage of Carnage — Director Mike Cuenca’s “Watch Them Come Blood” Celebrates Grindhouse Horror

From the very first frames of Mike Cuenca’s Watch Them Come Blood, it’s evident that we’re in for a cinematic experience that defies conventional categorization. Opening with ambiguous moans that teeter between pleasure and pain—though given the genre, we can safely lean toward the latter—the film plunges us into a hazy, sanguine tableau. The grainy film texture and saturated colors from cinematographer Jessica Gallant immediately evokes the spirit of ’80s grindhouse cinema, a deliberate aesthetic choice that sets the tone for the chaotic journey ahead.

Co-written by Joaquin Dominguez, the narrative kicks off with a group of friends executing a low-stakes heist: stealing a birthday cake from a vegan bakery. This seemingly innocuous act is intercut with vintage animation clips reminiscent of exhibits one might find at the Museum of Sex. The juxtaposition sets a quirky yet unsettling atmosphere, signaling that this road trip is anything but ordinary.

Our ensemble includes Auggie (Eric Aguilar) and Emilio (Allyn Moriyon), former bandmates whose shared history adds layers to their interactions. Emilio surprises the group with a mixed version of their old music, a gesture that rekindles past dynamics and hints at unresolved tensions. The arrival of Pia (Arko Miro), a goth-leaning enigma with a penchant for The Thin Man marathons and a declared admiration for Myrna Loy, introduces a subtle undercurrent of jealousy. Flor, portrayed by Rebecca Lynne Morley and notably sporting a Bauhaus “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” t-shirt, becomes increasingly wary of Pia’s closeness to Emilio. To balance the scales, Flor invites her co-worker Gwen (Kayla Cummings)—a character who, by horror genre logic at this point in the narrative, could either emerge as the final girl or meet a grim fate. But to expect any predictable genre conventions from this flick would be as foolhardy as the characters in the film.

Cuenca’s script employs Tarantino-esque flashbacks to flesh out backstories, while the witty, rapid-fire dialogue echoes the relational complexities often explored in Greg Araki’s films. This stylistic melding creates a tapestry of bloody gauze that’s both familiar and refreshingly unpredictable.

As the group congregates at a dimly lit bar post-cake theft, the atmosphere shifts. The entrance of a darker clique, led by Warren (played by Cuenca himself), injects a palpable sense of foreboding. An unsettling encounter in the restroom with a perverse stranger (a cameo by drummer Victor Andrade (Aurat/Slashdance) escalates the tension. The friends, driven by a mix of curiosity and ill-advised bravado—a common catalyst in horror narratives—decide to follow the stranger and his associate, a man conspicuously carrying a parasol.

Their pursuit leads them to a gothic Victorian mansion, complete with Second Empire mansard roofs that evoke cinematic memories of Psycho and The Addams Family. Greeted by eerie hosts, they’re lured inside to discover the mansion doubles as a brothel.

The film takes a sharp turn with its first shocking demise, executed with a suddenness that would make Tobe Hooper proud. This moment catapults the story into full horror mode, but Cuenca doesn’t linger solely on gore. We cut to two new characters, Charlie and Jon, whose introspective dialogue brings a Before Sunrise quality to the narrative. This puzzling yet brief respite adds more foreboding depth to the narrative before plunging back into chaos.

Enter the Nihilists: a ragtag group of thieves comprising Camila (Lillian Solange Beaudoin), Ida (Kat Yeary), the idiosyncratic drug dealer OZ (Joey Halter), and their leader Warren. Their plan to rob the brothel introduces another layer of conflict. With a self-awareness that borders on meta-commentary, Ida describes the establishment as a place where “…people go to get fucked to death” It’s a heist within a horror, wrapped in dark comedy—a testament to Cuenca’s fearless genre-blending.

Watch Them Come Blood is, in essence, an exquisite corpse of cinema—a collaborative collage where horror, black humor, indie romance, and post-punk aesthetics coexist. The film doesn’t just pay homage to its influences; it absorbs and reinterprets them, resulting in a piece that’s as unpredictable as it is entertaining. Cuenca’s direction showcases a maturation of his craft, balancing absurdity with genuine suspense.

For those attuned to the LA post-punk scene and indie film quirks, this movie feels like a love letter—reminiscent of how Repo Man still resonates with its local audience. Yet, its appeal isn’t limited to niche circles. By embracing the chaos and refusing to be tethered to a single genre, Watch Them Come Blood stands out as a bold cinematic statement. It’s off the wall, undeniably insane, and perhaps Cuenca’s most compelling work to date.

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