As exhausting and demanding a test of the gag reflex as any film ever committed to celluloid, Peter Jackson's low-budget, amazingly resourceful portrayal of mankind a la carte is a series of kinetically realized chunk-blowing vignettes that endlessly assault the viewer at such a hyperactive pace that it's nearly impossible to draw a breath, much less take a moment to laugh at the revoltingly hilarious exploits. Sheep are blown to oblivion with rocket launchers, steaming alien vomit is consumed as a delicacy, legions of sledgehammer-toting, human-hungry aliens taunt and torture the heroes, and an entire Victorian home launches into space -- all for a fraction of the budget of the most minimalist independent film of recent years and with ten times the energy. Though Jackson would repeatedly revisit similar nauseating territory to similar effect and success, he would captivate viewers six years later with Heavenly Creatures, his moving and hauntingly sensitive retelling of New Zealand's infamous Parker-Hulme murders.