Bone Sickness (2004) – Brian Paulin.

'You turned me into a Necro-junkie!'

A remarkably dutiful, deliciously pulchritudinous blonde wife cares for her bed-ridden husband, mortally stricken by some pernicious bone malady. Seeking homeopathic relief, her bizarre readiness to administer decayed human bone marrow, not unsurprisingly, precipitates projective expulsion of parasites, a rare appetite for gory mayhem, and the creepy manifestation of a Bruno Mattei/Burial Ground-looking gut-ripping zombie horde! If one can mostly ignore the bravura avoidance of logic herein, the low-fi Bone Sickness enjoys a morbid, uniquely nauseating charm all of its very own. Violently defecating bloody parasites is unlikely to become a standard terror trope, and queasily suggests that Brian Paulin's no-budget, aggressively necrophagous shocker is partially infected with a mote of iconoclasm.

Throw in arbitrary nudity, gruesomely cannibalistic gross-outs, bloody eviscerations, righteous buzz saw carnage, and no degenerated S.O.V gore-hound can have a legitimate beef over the voluminously plasmic content of Bone Sickness. There are far worse examples of rudimentary acting, but the quotient of female eye-candy is qualitative, and their apparent willingness to disrobe leads me to believe that Paulin hired some team players. Like the old adage of bringing a knife to a gunfight, Paulin playfully posits his own rationale, that bringing an off-the-peg S.W.A.T team to a sinisterly slow-moving Zombie Holocaust is certainly no less futile! The Necrobiotic premise is harder to swallow than the protagonists worm-centric diet, I nonetheless remain demonstratively impressed by the gruesome, spaghetti-splatter milieu, and Bone Sickness's frequently heroic levels of old-school chunk-blowing.