I almost never give the rating of a film much of a glance, but when I picked up the DVD of Moscow Zero, the little MPAA-sponsored box on the back caught my eye. Moscow Zero is rated R “for language.” Not for violence, or gore, or even terror. Not even for “obscene language,” or “mild language,” or one of the other completely arbitrary adjectives they occasionally tack onto the word. This struck me as particularly odd, since the box art insists that Zero is a horror film about “the gates to the underworld [being] opened.” I’ve never been the sort to insist that my horror movies have some sort of minimum gore quotient (I’ve always thought that those that show less, like the original Cat People, are much more effectively scary), but it seemed to me as though the horrors in a film about “the gatekeeper of Hell” would at least warrant a mention in the rating descriptors.

It turns out that Sony is marketing the film a bit deceptively stateside, but I can’t really blame them for wanting to cut their losses. I wouldn’t be exaggerating too much if I said the thing was nearly unwatchable — which is unfortunate, since the whole time I just couldn’t shake the feeling that buried under all the painfully amateur filmmaking on display here, there’s actually a very good idea. The story here concerns a priest named Owen (Vincent Gallo) who’s seeking to rescue an anthropologist friend who recently disappeared into the catacombs beneath Moscow. These catacombs are inhabited by “demons,” including Val Kilmer, who’s described as the “gatekeeper of Hell” on the box.

Or are they? It turns out that there are all sorts of characters living in the caverns. Some of them are homeless, others are running from their enemies, and many simply got sick of life among the living. In fact, the real question here is what a “demon” is — or if a demon even exists. That which seems to be supernatural at first might not be so supernatural after all.

So there’s some philosophical depth here, but unfortunately, I doubt most viewers will stick around long enough to ponder such questions. Relatively new (this is her second film) director Maria Lidon tries to use editing to keep the viewer guessing; unfortunately, the technique is more likely to make the viewer stop trying to care. There are really three stories here: the one about Owen, the one about his anthropologist friend, and a third one about some mysterious orphans. Lidon’s cut them together in such a way that it’s impossible to tell what’s simultaneous and what’s a flashback; this problem is compounded by the fact that the film has a bad case of The Musketeer Disease — in other words, it thinks a monochromatic palette looks really cool, and who cares about being able to see what’s going on? We also have to put up with a tacked-on love story — a sure indication that Lidon lacks confidence in what she’s doing.

As I’ve said, this all just feels terribly unfortunate, since the premise is one with a lot of potential. Somewhere down there, beneath Moscow Zero’s gaudy, choppy surface, lies a valuable kernel of human depth; perhaps it would come to the surface with a second or third viewing. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to wander its catacombs for eternity. Someone braver than I will have to make that expedition.