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4.6/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 4.6/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Chili and Chills remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, you probably already know if you're the type of person who can sit through Chili and Chills. If you want a tight story with a beginning, middle, and end, look elsewhere. But if you’re a fan of weird, dusty vignettes—like, say, the kind of stuff you'd find in Tramping Tramps—you might find some charm here.
It’s not a movie so much as a collection of weird diary entries filmed in the desert. It feels less like a production and more like Harold Auten just pointed a camera at whatever looked strange.
The whole thing feels oddly suspended in time. One minute you’re looking at a rusted-out shell of a car that clearly gave up the ghost miles ago, and the next you’re dropped into a Russian community in the middle of Mexico. Why are they there? Nobody says. The kids are busy fishing for cactus apples, which is a detail I didn’t know I needed in my life until today.
The pacing is… well, it doesn't really exist. It just drifts. 🌵
There is a moment—and I’m still not sure how I feel about it—where two turtles are essentially fighting to the death. It’s supposed to be high stakes, but it’s mostly just two turtles looking grumpy. The way the narrator talks about it, you’d think it was a gladiator match. It’s that weird, slightly detached tone you sometimes hear in older documentaries, like the ones that try to make a lizard walking across a rock sound like the most important thing in the world.
It reminds me a bit of the aimless, rambling energy of East of the Water Plug, where the environment is the actual lead actor. If you like quiet, strange, and slightly dusty things, you’ll dig it. If you need excitement, skip it. 🐍
Anyway, I think I need a drink after watching all that heat.