Traces of Death 1 (1993) – Damon Fox.

Following in the mucky footprints of Faces of Death and Death Scenes, Traces of Death provided armchair anatomists with a lurid plenitude of fuzzily unexpurgated footage of human mortality. There are but a few things of which we can be absolutely certain, inflation never decreases, life sucks, we are all going to expire, and splattery road accidents draw huge crowds. Traces of Death pruriently caters to this morbid interest, providing explicit human carnage, observed from the myriad comforts of your cosy, centrally heated domicile. While cheap and tawdry, like undiscovered roadkill, Traces of Death's innate tawdriness fermenting horribly over time. Opportunistically produced without the merest vestige of sophistication, an all you can stomach, gore-sotted buffet of purloined medical procedures, twisted roadside carnage, gruesomely uncensored news footage, lingering autopsies, and multitudinous examples of brutal sudden death.

Wholly dependent upon the individual's tolerance for graphically exposed human giblets, the unrepentantly miasmic Traces of Death series sordidly maintains its purulent position amongst the gross pantheon of compellingly cheapnis snuff-gore compendia. Contrary to its undeservedly extreme reputation, Traces of Death would make an ideal date flick, as they so often claim, being aware of your own mortality often acts as an aphrodisiac, fuelled by mankind's selfish need to unthinkingly reproduce itself. It would be entirely remiss of me if I failed to mention the one barbarous scene of gratuitous animal cruelty at the beginning, I fast-forward through it, like most folk, I abhor the abuse of animals, evolution's most noble creations.