Main cast: John Ennis (Robert Anderson Wright), Krsy Fox (Brody), Bryce Johnson (Marcus Muller), Edward Hong (Eddie Park), Adam Marcinowski (The Whistler), Scout Compton (Ivy), Adam Busch (John), and Josephine Chang (Hope)
Director: Spider One

Unlike his brother Rob Zombie, whose career as a horror film director started by him asking how many foul words he can make his actors scream out loud in one minute and how many times he can cram his wife into his movies, Spider One intends to go on a more arty-farty low budget indie route for his directorial debut.

Hence, Allegoria is an anthology movie that tries to tie its segments together into an overarching grand scheme of things, but its pretentious misfire is best represented by John Ennis’s insufferable twat of an acting coach yelling at the camera in his best impersonation of a hobo that everyone enjoys kicking in the gonads:

“Reality is no more truth than truth is reality!”

This is why nobody likes acting coaches and their students: the pretentious twattery is off the charts.

This is followed by segments of horror stories involving some imbeciles that take this discount Mark Hamill seriously. While there are some pretty interesting moments here, those are few and far between, as most of the time it’s about pretentious twats acting like they are the deepest walls of tormented creativity when all they are really doing are saying the same lines over and over while posturing and pontificating about the myopia in their navels.

Frankly, when they die, or whatever their death is supposed to symbolize, I chalk this as a win because there is one less useless waste of pretentious space in this world.

Then there are the “scares”, which consist of annoying loud music crashing in the background before the film quickly cuts to someone sporting make-up and looking like a corpse or a ghost. 

The whole thing resembles the work of some overgrown man-child that can’t get over the fact that he is no longer in art school, where his pseudo-intellectual banality will still pass muster. It takes itself way too seriously when it’s delivering nothing of consequence or use, and that’s both laughable and embarrassing to behold.

All in all, this one is best left for the enjoyment of mediocre art school people that need some desperation assurance that their vapid brain flatulence will one day, some day, be appreciated in a way that it deserves to be. It’s best to leave them—and things like this—be, so that they can all dry hump one another and leave the rest of the world alone.