Some crazy lady, who always wears a disposable filter mask when out and about, delivers melancholy voiceovers during the entirety of the production. No one is ever visible other than she and her boyfriend, even in the subway and cafe, so it gives the short film a brooding loneliness in what appears to be a depopulated purgatory.
The basic premise is that when she tries to kill herself, she revives, with all of her wounds healed (she has scars from the knife wounds, but they didn't worry about how much being ran over by a train would disfigure or scar the body, conveniently), gasping for breath when she wakes up in a plastic bag, in a garbage heap. Is her reason for dying a nihilistic disregard for life, ennui (I'm sure she loves this word--bloody snob!), or curiosity about what exists beyond, if anything? Each one seems to be suggested by several segments, but her yearning for death entails a "moment" that seems to border on the sexualization and fetishization of the process of death.
Being unable to die and constantly being reborn is not a novel concept--and is handled more creatively elsewhere, such as in the notorious manga, Mai-Chan's Daily Life--which is a staple of the guro genre; a more sickly and disgusting offshoot of the eroguro aesthetic. This film doesn't have the same unique vibe or exploration of unbridled depravity. And certainly not the more philosophical depiction in works like Planescape Torment, nor the exploration of self-improvement that you'd find in Groundhog Day or the psychological trauma of something like Steins;Gate--neither of which are specifically about dying and being reborn, but focus on repeating the same moments over and over to great effect. Precut Girl just exposes us to a boring woman who focuses on the moment of death (or of being reborn) like the hit of a drug or an orgasm.
Cinematography is mediocre. It has a cheap digital look and the framing is nothing exciting. The music is terrible: mostly heavy guitar rock that doesn't fit particularly well, and the acting is wooden and doesn't convey the emotions necessary for such a simple piece.
