Blood Sick Productions: Coven of the Black Cube (2024) - Reviewed

Images courtesy of Blood Sick Productions

You probably haven’t heard of the independent production company Blood Sick Productions yet unless you’re a regular attendee of PhilaMOCA’s Psychotronic film events.  Started by producer-director Brewce Longo and Michael DiFancesco, the company is sort of like Troma Entertainment meets Visual Vengeance by way of an underground thrash metal show with frequent pit stops to Hot Topic.  Usually making a cameo appearance of some sort in the proceedings, Longo’s efforts go for an intentionally lo-fi VHS tape aesthetic which appears to be authentic and not just a digital post-production effect.  A curious case of cultivating a patina that was long thought lost to time, creating new videotaped do-it-yourself micro-budget horror yarns in the 2020s, Blood Sick Productions is driven by nostalgia and a penchant for the kind of grungy borderline softcore homegrown video horror flicks you’d find in the cult horror section on a worn and overplayed tape. 

 
Gradually unveiling a series of titles on made-on-demand BD-R discs, among the company’s first releases are Busted Babies and Blood Sick Productions’ co-founder Brewce Longo’s fourth feature as a producer-director Coven of the Black Cube.  Ostensibly a goth lesbian stoner hangout flick featuring a few different live acts such as Jakob Battick, Sing Slavic and Unholy Affair, it tells the story of misandrist witches casting occult spells and murdering nefarious men under the front of a gothic novelty shop.  Cross-cutting between a young girlfriend dating the singer of a band, a glamorous shopkeeper who might be a murderous witch, a guy who runs a pizzeria/video store/dispensary shop that looks like a food truck with tapes randomly strewn about, Coven of the Black Cube gradually seems to center around a mysterious black cube with unearthly demonic powers. 

 
The kind of movies Troma Entertainment ought to still be making rather than their ultra clean sheen digital aesthetic, Coven of the Black Cube is from a technical filmmaking acting standpoint more or less out of shits to give.  With camerawork that generally feels lensed guerilla style on the fly perhaps without permits, there’s a shoddiness to the look of this that feels like 1990s SOV (shot on video) trash while also celebrating analog tape over our streaming digital Hell we’re in.  Take for instance a scene where two of the main characters, the jilted lesbian girlfriend and the stoner video store owner, watching some VHS tapes together.  The scene takes a moment to regard a flatscreen TV with the wires disconnected and wrapped up, filed away in disuse.  In today’s curious media verse fluctuating between going all in the airspace and landing back in our hands, it felt like a defiant call to arms seeing new standard home theater equipment disconnected. 

 
Acting is poor and the storytelling kind of meanders so by the time heavy metal witchcraft and penis needle tortures begin, we kind of don’t care one way or the other.  Sure there are characters in it, many of whom drift in and out of other Blood Sick Productions, but mostly its a vibe kind of film that feels strange seeing on Blu-ray disc rather than VHS tape.  For what its worth, the mixture of gothic queer witch stoner retro vibes doesn’t have a whole lot of forward momentum but in its way reminded me of the kind of slice-of-life day-to-day antics captured in Candy Apple.  


As someone who consumes a lot of SOV films, Coven of the Black Cube was an alright hangout flick with some occasional cringe inducing moments.  While I’m not exactly sure if these will catch on or go much of anywhere, we are seeing in real time a resurgence of the analog format and those looking for some homegrown witchy goth horror vibes should have some lo-fi fun here.  The Blu-ray disc comes with a running audio commentary, trailers and some behind-the-scenes stuff, though the film’s biggest overarching impact will probably result in some viewers running out and buying back their old CRT units.

--Andrew Kotwicki