Deathgasm is one of the rare horror comedies that actually nails both sides of the coin. At its center is Brodie, the new kid in small-town New Zealand. He’s an awkward metalhead blasting music too loud, doodling demons on his shoes and in his notebooks, and trying to carve out some space for himself by starting a band with fellow outcasts. It’s teenage angst meets demon mythology, equal parts sweet and blood-soaked.

The heart of the movie is his crush on Medina, the preppy blonde who seems way out of his league. Their romance plays both sincerely and with a wink. On paper, it’s absurd. In practice, it’s kind of perfect. You root for him because it taps into that universal hope—that someone might look past your weirdness and actually like what’s underneath.

One of my favorite scenes is when they go for ice cream together. Medina is clearly dropping hints, showing she’s interested, but Brodie is so painfully awkward he can’t see it. He fumbles every chance, misses every sign, and it’s almost too much to watch—but it’s also exactly what makes it sweet. We’ve all been there, and the movie captures that teenage clumsiness around romance in a way that’s funny, cringey, and endearing all at once.

On the horror side, this isn’t mean-spirited or nihilistic. It’s campy, messy, and absolutely giddy with itself. The gore is plentiful, the effects are gross in the best way, and the energy never lets up. One of my favorite sequences is when they first play the cursed song. The sky darkens, townsfolk start losing it in grotesque ways, and the whole thing spirals into a strobe-lit frenzy. It’s campy, yes—but also weirdly hypnotic. Metal and mayhem in perfect harmony.

But the thing is, underneath all the chaos, Brodie’s life is genuinely sad. His mom is gone. He’s been shipped off to a new town. He gets bullied and beaten up. His best friend even betrays him by stealing the girl he likes. He’s a tortured kid, and the movie doesn’t shy away from showing that. The reason the comedy and gore land so well is because they’re grounded in someone who feels real—someone carrying real pain.

And that’s what makes Deathgasm special. It’s fun from start to finish. The dialogue snaps, the pacing never drags, and if you’ve ever been one of the “weird kids,” it feels instantly relatable. It celebrates the ones who don’t fit in, who scribble demons in their notebooks and crank their music too loud, the ones who feel a little misunderstood.

Almost ten years later, Deathgasm has already carved out cult status—so much so that a sequel is finished and just waiting for a release date. On rewatch, it only gets better: funnier in its comedy, sharper in its darkness, and still filled with so much heart. By the end, you’re not just laughing at the gore, you’re rooting for the characters. Deathgasm proves that horror and comedy don’t just coexist—they make each other stronger. And when it’s done this well, it’s an absolute blast.