Chainsaws Were Singing [Fantasia International Film Festival Review]

by Mike McGranaghan

If The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was reimagined as a musical comedy, it would look a lot like Chainsaws Were Singing. The movie screened during the 2024 Fantasia International Film Festival, and it’s kind of a quintessential Fantasia movie. That is to say, it blends genres, includes taboo subject matter, and is just generally off-the-wall. It isn’t hard to envision this Estonian movie becoming a cult favorite, although even audiences who appreciate the story’s brazen nature may feel worn out by the overall excess.

Tom (Karl Ives) is depressed and suicidal. While planning to jump off a bridge, he catches a glimpse of Maria (Laura Niils). She, too, is depressed. They begin an instant romance that is halted when the chainsaw-wielding killer named, uh, Killer (Martin Ruus) kidnaps Maria and takes her back to his psychotic family’s home. Tom teams up with new acquaintance Jaan (Janno Puusepp) to rescue her. Also, the characters intermittently break into song.

Chainsaws Were Singing has tons of blood and gore, much of it created, obviously, by a chainsaw. Director Sander Maran stages everything in a slapstick manner to make it more goofy than gross. There are undoubtedly some big laughs in the picture. In one scene, Killer rips out a guy’s eyeballs, tears off another guy’s testicles, then shoves the testicles into the first guy’s eye sockets. Material like that is so outrageous that, when presented in an overly broad style, it elicits chuckles.

A little of that goes a long way, however, and the movie runs nearly two full hours. The barrage of grossness starts become overwhelming by the halfway point. There’s a scene where Tom and Jaan encounter a “Bukkake” tribe, leading to predictably disgusting results. (If you don’t know what Bukkake is, do yourself a favor and don’t look it up.) We’re also treated to the sight of incestuous twin brothers who, yes, make out onscreen. Again, it’s all an intentional joke, but getting slammed with one salacious element after another actually decreases the comedy value because it grows repetitive.

Because of its distinct nature, this is absolutely a case of “your milage may vary.” Some will love the non-stop insanity; others will slowly lose interest. I won’t deny laughing during parts of Chainsaws Were Singing and I admire the gusto with which Maran presents it. Scenes go on too long, though, and the manic pace wears out its welcome. This would be a killer comedy at 75 minutes. At 118, I found it to be an endurance test, albeit an occasionally riotous one.

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