You blame your brain. You are your fucking brain, you dipshit.
Dr. Mary
Backrooms is one director’s take on the singularly horrific experience of going to an office job with a hangover. It’s enough to make any thirty-something pick up the phone and tell anyone who’ll listen that they’ve got stomach problems and won’t be in tomorrow. What? No, it’s not a big ol’ tape worm again, I can assure you that. Dragon dildo up to the guts? Don’t talk so nasty on the phone to me. I know I called you, still, that doesn’t excuse it. OK, thanks, hopefully I’ll feel better by then…
But there’s no mistaking the scene and pervading atmosphere in that extradimensional space that anyone with an office job can visit any day of the week. I’ll tell you how: Suck down a sixer of Natty Ice 16 ouncers one weeknight and then report to your cube by 7:00 a.m. the following morning.
At around 2 p.m., the overhead lights will be looking particularly unforgiving, like a stern and judgmental headmistress. There’s no place to hide or rest your weary eyes. The whole atmosphere bleats with the white noise of white collar employment.
You’ll start to feel the the fucking chairs and desks are sinking into the floor while you stagger to your feet and start to wonder if it might not be better to run and dash your head into the wall.
The character that really gets to the whole heart of this thing being about reporting to a goddamn 9-5 workspace with a raging, anxiety-inducing bit of crapulence is Kat. She doesn’t want to go near the thing from the very start, then she’s telling her boyfriend to get the hell back up that Willy Wonka ramp and quit drinking them tall boys.
But how does it end for Kat? She got her head severed and put in a freezer. Little bit of midnight munchie fuel for Clark.
And some people might complain about the Clark character, call him an insufferable shit ass and all that. But anyone who has ever had an office job knows Clark. Every office has a Clarkster, gifted with an eight-hour motor to complain about everyone and everything but themselves. He’s fine just being hungover in his cube. That pretty much encapsulates every day for him. He doesn’t mind if Big Pirate Clark uses him as a sweet treat either.
So Phil finally comes to the rescue, but you know right away he’s not a good guy. First, he’s appreciative of that whole thing about drawing a dog. Then he gets straight down to office speak: ‘Let’s unpack this and get on the same page. Doors are opening everywhere.’
Phil doesn’t get it. He thinks there’s something important, something more to the backrooms. He thinks it’s more than just a job. But that’s only because it is his job. Hell is other people and it’s office work and it’s hangovers. The backrooms bring them all together.
The North End 
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