This is your life, and it’s being illustrated in watercolors, bleeding into the pages of a medieval nightmare.

Welcome to Belladonna of Sadness (1973). You think you’ve seen “trippy”? You haven’t. This isn’t just an anime; it’s a jagged, erotic, psychedelic assault on your retinas. It’s the final installment of the Animerama trilogy, and it’s the only film that will make you feel like you’ve been poisoned by a fairy tale and left to rot in the best way possible.

The Setup

Jeanne is a young bride. She’s beautiful, she’s innocent, and she’s utterly doomed. On her wedding night, the local Baron exercises his “right” to ruin her. She’s left broken, cast out, and desperate. So, she makes the only move left on the board: she makes a deal with the Devil.

Except the Devil isn’t a man in a red suit. He’s a glowing, shifting, phantasmagoric glob of ectoplasm that whispers in her ear. Jeanne trades her soul for power, for vengeance, and for a freedom that tastes like ash. It’s the classic Faustian bargain, but with more nudity, more nightmares, and a soundtrack that will vibrate the fillings out of your teeth.

The Experience

Stop looking for smooth, cel-shaded movement. Most of this movie is “still” art. It’s a series of paintings that pulsate, zoom, and fracture. It’s like watching the history of European art—Klimt, Schiele, medieval woodcuts—get fed through a paper shredder and reassembled by a sadist with a paintbrush.

The colors don’t stay inside the lines because there are no lines. There’s only the fever. The Devil appears as a shimmering, amorphous smudge of color. Jeanne’s transformation into a witch isn’t a magical girl sequence; it’s a terrifying loss of self, a descent into a psychedelic abyss where every frame looks like a tarot card from a deck designed in hell.

Why You’ll Watch

You’ll watch because your brain needs a reset. You need to see that animation can be something other than toys selling plastic junk to children. You need to witness a film that is as much an autopsy of the human ego as it is a love letter to the grotesque.

It’s an 86-minute panic attack that you’ll want to frame on your wall. By the time it ends, you’ll feel violated, empowered, and strangely enlightened. You’ll look at the world, and for a few seconds, you’ll see the hidden, swirling patterns of chaos underneath the pavement. Jeanne didn’t just lose her soul; she turned it into a weapon.

Rating: 5 out of 5 pacts signed in blood.