As a sadomasochistic bitch who cuts off her daddy’s dick within the first five minutes of Wound, schizo Susan (Kate O'Rourke) is not exactly a woman whose sense of judgment the viewer can trust, thus the film becomes a hallucinatory horror show where concrete reality and mental derangement become dismembered in a blender of S&M surrealism, anti-erotic excess, Gothic gratuity, and longing for something darkly romantic but totally intangible. With a pedophile fiend for a father who probably could be described as the ‘New Zealand Josef Fritzl,’ Susan makes it clear why “incest” and “patricide” go together like aristocrats and gulags, but she has a more pressing matter on her mind. At the ripe age of 19-years-old, Susan gave birth to a beautiful still-born baby girl, yet, quite inexplicably, a Gothic school gal named Tanya (Te Kaea Beri) who was born an orphan, and may be the daughter Susan thought was born dead, is on the prowl for her mommy dearest. When not trying tirelessly to make sales for her telemarketing job and basking in sexual abuse from her S&M Master John (Campbell Cooley), Susan is daydreaming day and night about an ostensible daughter that was spawn from the most unholiest sin. With the rotten, worm-eaten apple not falling far from the devitalized tree, night owl temptress Tanya is also engaged in an all the more sickening branch of S&M that includes being senselessly buggered by a swine-mask sporting degenerate whose only other piece of ‘clothing’ is an iron-cock with a deathhead on the end and whose bloated body covered in heretical tattoos makes him seem like some sort of satanic Maori tribesman who took the Gothic blues lyrics of Glenn Danzig a little too seriously. A strikingly haunting and oftentimes hysterical collection of phantasmic tableaux that never relents in its metaphysical prodding and pillaging of the viewer’s soul, Wound is a work that only offers solace to the deceased, but only aesthetically pleasing torment to the living, or so protagonist Susan finds out during her deluge of the mind. With visions of romantic suicide pacts on train tracks, a two-headed monster being born through a ghastly gigantic vagina, visitations from a matricidal daughter who wears death on her sleeve, elderly S&M madams, and non-rides to nowhere on an antiquated Victorian train full of lost souls with a punk rock fashion sense, Wound pours buckets of blood of the anti-Electral love sort.
In an interview for the website Schurr Sound, Wound director David Blyth stated the following regarding the contemporary Hollywoodized Occident, “In the Victorian times, children were present when dead bodies were being dressed and that was part of them understanding the process of death. Now in our western white society the coffin is closed. It’s only actually the Maori culture that has an open coffin and a healthier attitude to death.” Of course, Wound is a work that not only wallows in death, but also in unchecked perversions in a fundamentally anti-life society where pathological fetishism is rampant, even of the incestuous sort. In fact, the father-daughter castration scenes in the film were inspired by a real scenario course case Blyth read about in a U.S. newspaper. As Blyth has mentioned repeatedly in interviews, Wound is a work that fundamentally explores the “unconscious mind,” most specifically of the badly diseased sort, thus the film can be looked at as a renegade reaction to a sick and intrinsically repressed society and a depiction of a deepening laceration in the Western collective unconscious, as well as an incendiary indictment of the decadent wasp patriarch whose role in society in no more prestigious than that of a glorified sperm donor who spends his free time masturbating to images on the internet of young girls around the same age as his daughter. As a man who has gone to Hollywood hell and back, and has created sentimental kiddy horror films starring Al Lewis aka Grandpa Munster, David Blyth has proven not only that his subversive spirit has not withered with age, but also that his view of humanity, especially in regard to those from the post-colonial Occident, is no less pessimistic as a weeping wound of the auteur's mind's eye that continues to bleed in every shot of film and digital video he shoots.