I cannot stress this enough: watching Wounds (2019) is the cinematic equivalent of being waterboarded for information you do not have. You would gladly confess to anything just to make it stop, but your interrogators simply do not believe you, so the torture drags on for an agonizing hour and thirty-four minutes.

The film centers around an alcoholic bartender named Will, played by Armie Hammer. Considering the real-life controversies that surfaced a few years after this release, watching Hammer get aggressively "nibbly" on screen is a deeply surreal experience. Multiple times throughout the runtime, I fully expected the script to pivot into a cannibalism subplot. Dakota Johnson plays his girlfriend, and you spend the entire movie feeling genuinely sorry for her. You can practically see her regretting signing the contract, clearly assuming she was starring in an artsy, meaningful indie thriller instead of this visual vomit.

Instead of a plot, the director simply unleashes an obsession with cockroaches. They are in every single scene. Yes, I understand the Gnostic symbolism of decay they were supposedly going for, but it doesn't change the fact that it is just relentlessly gross. Add in an inexplicable scene featuring a giant, entirely naked woman just standing around in a dive bar, and you are left wondering who signed off on the final cut.

There was never a single second where I was rooting for Will to survive. In fact, I actively wanted him to fall into the bizarre black hole he kept seeing on his phone.

This film is not just bad; it is aggressively, offensively awful. It sucked so much that I legitimately want to log back into my website, pull up my old one-star reviews, and raise their scores, because Wounds has single-handedly lowered the floor of my rating scale. It made me question my own sanity. I thought I was the problem. It turns out, no, it is just this movie.