All I can say about Kratt is that at one point, a grandma possessed by a workaholic demon chows down on a bunch of sauerkraut and bread, builds up a fart, lets out the fart, and lights the fart, rocketing herself from her doorstep to a nearby bar where she turns a bunch of men into pizzas.
I wish the whole movie hit that sweet spot of juvenile humor and gore more often; what there is to the film outside of this beat is likeable and breezy, but the tantalizing promise of bloody weirdness lingers over the rest of the movie without being realized enough (at least for my sicko tastes). But that’s a recommendation nonetheless. Kratt‘s a hoot.
You can read my full review over at Paste Magazine.
A Constant Visual Feast 