A Simple Good Film

You know what doesn't suck? 

Obviously.

You know what else doesn't suck? Things That Don't Suck, a fine film and book blog run by Bryce Wilson. This week, the mighty Bryce is putting together Raimifest, a cabin in the woods style party in blogathon form. Head on over for seven full days of grooviness, but first, here's my simple contribution:

A Simple Plan might be the saddest film I’ve seen in a long time.

I was not expecting as such. I knew it was Sam Raimi. I knew it was well-respected as a  tight story told with great winter atmosphere. I knew it starred my future husband Bill Paxton (when he’s old and wrinkly and blind I think I can successfully marry him without him even knowing it, and yes, I’ve thought this through thoroughly) and that Billy Bob Thorton was on the box cover. Once the credits rolled, I realized I’d get to hear a Danny Elfman score in a non-Tim Burton movie (and much like the Helena Bonham Carter Quandry, I figured that would probably produce better results) and have the excitement to look forward to a Gary Cole appearance.

I didn’t think this movie would break my heart.

Quick Plot: A New Year’s trip to their mother’s grave proves life-changing for Hank (the always dreamy Bill Paxton) and Jacob (Billy Bob Thornton), two very different brothers who, along with Jacob’s town drunk pal Lou, discover a crashed plane and a mysterious bag filled with 4.4 million dollars in unmarked hundred dollar bills. After much tense discussion, the trio decides to split the cash once news of the crash comes and goes.

Much like that brilliant episode of The Simpsons, the men learn over the course of the film that dividing anything three ways--be it a Radioactive Man Edition 1 or fortune--is a surefire path towards disaster. The effects are a little more lasting here.

The story of A Simple Plan is written by Scott Smith, the same smartly horrific mind behind The Ruins. In a lot of ways, it’s none too complex but what Smith and Raimi do so well is create the perfect characters who would end up in a progressively more doomed situation with every decision they make post-money tease. Hank is presented as the brains of the three, the college grad with a lovely and expecting wife (Bridget Fonda), a real job, and the sense to plot their success. Sure, we can guess by the very nature of the film that it’s Hank who will have the biggest fall, but to watch his morals die with every choice he makes is absolutely fascinating, particularly when coupled with the subtle Lady Macbeth-ness of a partner who just wants what she could potentially have.

On the other side is Jacob, played by a then-lesser known Thornton as a walking tragedy. He’s a sad, seemingly not smart man with little ambition or hope for, well, anything in life. There are probably some great lessons in screenwriting somewhere in the film in how Hank and Jacob are portrayed. Without too much specific expository conversations, we get the full family portrait of these men as brothers, a lifetime of latent resentment on Jacob‘s part in response to Hank’s seemingly foreign superiority. Even those who simply despise Thorton and his fear of antique furniture will probably soften during his big revelatory scene, a truly uncomfortable car talk where he recounts the truth behind his only real romance. 

So yes, the characterization inside A Simple Plan is top notch. Pair that with a tight story that snowballs into horrors and you have a fairly incredible slice of winter horror.

High Points

From the very first scene, we get the precise dynamics of Hank, Jacob, and Lou, something that always feels believable and provides an instant understanding for us of who these men are and how they fit together

No spoilers here, but the final shots and ultimate finale are quite brilliant in a sort of ironic twisty way you often get in great short stories

Low Points
Um...

Lessons Learned

In addition to producing vitamins and soreness, breastfeeding might provide you with a brand new sense of Shakespearean villainy

Always ask to see a badge

Rent/Bury/Buy

Because I’m someone that gets easily confused, I often mixed up A Simple Plan with the Coen Brothers’ Blood Simple. I’m simple like that, perhaps. At the same time, having now SEEN both films, I feel unconsciously smart because aside from a titular word, both have a similar style that could easily work on a tense double bill. A Simple Plan is, I’ve decided, a great film not just for its tense narrative, but for what it does with ‘real’ people caught up a mess of their own making. Sure, it’s a story told timeless times before, but Raimi and Smith truly do make something great out of it by focusing on how a basic thing like wanting a few million dollars could tear apart not only your life and freedom, but very sense of what kind of person you are capable of being. It may be one of the best tragedies I’ve seen in some time.

Head this way for more Raiminess!

Marchness!

Raise the ceilings folks! We’ve survived the onslaught of evil children, deadly dolls, German dwarfs, lustful dummies, petite clowns, itty bitty cowboys, puppet people, manitous, angry fetuses, homicidal incarnations of aborted fetuses, and babies possessed by the angry spirit of cabaret dancing little men. The First (Probably) Annual Month of the Vertically Challenged Villains hath ended, so stretch your legs stand tall.

But don’t brag about it. Some of us still need to buy capri pants in order to not have to hem, thank you.

Anyhoosers, March will get swinging soon with a potpouri of upcoming reviews but before that, I’ve got a pile of announcements in need of being shared. Among them:

-Paracinema, my favorite magazine of all time (no conflict of interest was contained in that statement) has a new issue out, and my friends, it is something truly special. Issue 11 is composed entirely of genre film articles written by those rare and mysterious beasts known as Women. 

You might have noticed I never really addressed the fact that February was Women in Horror Month. Part of it was my preoccupation with a more endangered minority (the shorties) but the other is that I don’t have any overwhelming amount to say about it. The idea is great, but when I think about all the incredible bloggesses I get the pleasure to read, I don’t necessarily see a need to single them out as a rarity. I like to believe we’re in an age where having estrogen doesn’t negate or validate your genre film parking ticket, and I think Paracinema’s Women’s Issue is further proof that smart, literate, and cinematically minded females are in no danger of disappearing. 

Head over to Paracinema's pretty new website to get your copy, and expect true happiness (and fine, maybe your period) to follow. Read such luminaries as The Horror Digest’s Andre Dumas, The Blood Sprayer’s queen Kristy Jett, Buried In a Book Crypt’s Ashlee, and yeah, Me as we pontifiicate on a variety of filmic magic. On my part, you get the chance to finally hear how I feel about George Romero’s evolutionary feminism. I’ll leave it there and expect you to complete the rest.

-Elsewhere in the Interworld, it’s Marcharaimi over at a blog that most definitely does not suck, and not just ‘cause it’s called Things That Don’t Suck. The extremely talented Bryce is dedicating the tail end of March into April to the gooey mind behind Evil Dead with a blogathon of epic Deadite proportions. I urge and implore you all to give it a gander. Raimi fans can’t lose, and readers who dig smart commentary on books and film can find few better resources than TTDS.

-Another field trip! March is a new month at Rogue Cinema, and as always, a new batch of indie film goodness is baking in the oven known as That Website. As always, it’s a great way to learn about some under the radar fare. Head on over and see what you find, paying, I would hope, special attention to my interview with the smart and promising Steve Gibson, director of the new clever ghost story-meets-Ghost Hunters chiller The Feed.

-As always, there are GleeKasts and Girls On Film Radio Podcasts floating around the Internet for your ears to experience. Hear the impassioned GoF Oscars show, where we beg the gods in vain for a Winter’s Bone victory (apparently we should have been asking for The Best Film of The Year to get ANY MENTIONS WHATSOVER in the many montage-y bits compiled on select nominated films). There was also a divisive episode on Calvaire that led to intense girlfights. Pillows were abused. And John Hawkes was sainted.

-Also, March marks a certain extravaganza known as HorrorHound Weekend and by golly, let the extravagance begin! If you're planning on being anywhere near Indianapolis in the last weekend of the month, be sure to stop by for the festivities, and I don't mean a photo op with Puppet Master vs. Demonic Toys star Corey Feldman. Sure, you can spend some time pondering how small your hand looks inside of Ken Foree's mitty handshake, but I'm more excited to have the chance to see some of my favorite bloggers, podcasters, and general Internet entities. Fun will be had, so drop a line here if you're planning on going. Just don't expect me to hold your place in the line for Boondock Saints' autographs.

-Finally, now comes the time where I address that small but vital portion of the Doll’s House readers who have suffered in silence for two years: the knitters. My dear friend and GleeKast cohostess Erica has joined the esteemed Order of the Bloggers with her own site, Knit’s a Small World. Now I don’t know a cross-stitch from a lower level Disney movie set in Hawaii, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to share Erica’s adventures in yarn with those who do. The site’s here and will be added to the blogroll. Knit’s official.

On that note, it seems fitting to toast one of my usually least favorite months with a bowl of Lucky Charms soaked in Guiness. That’s how we non-Irish do it, and trust me: we do it well.

When You Wish Upon a Star (you die)

I was all ready to celebrate the 55th anniversary of Disneyland this past July 17th and then some hack named Guillermo del Toro came along to steal my thunder. Apparently, one of the best working genre directors is now planning on filming his own adaptation of everybody’s favorite G-rated ghost ride, The Haunted Mansion. So while millions of dollars get thrown towards a story that’s already been told (terribly), here are a few of my own suggestions for how to bring to life some of Disney’s other less cinematic attractions.

It’s a Small World

 In one of the first true bids for truly international peace, the UN organizes the world’s largest toy drive, requesting every nation to donate a collection of toys that best represents its people. It’s a beautiful idea...until the poor security guards manning the midnight deliveries unearths a devastating secret revealing each doll to be possessed by the spirit of wronged dead patriots (think Che Guevara, Oliver Cromwell, Davy Crocket, William Wallace et al) and the entire plan is a simple attempt to bring about universal chaos. It’s up to a nearly retired night watchman Hank (John Goodman) and his fresh-faced apprentice Timmy (Jay Baruchel or your own favorite skinny goodball du jour) to save the world, one verse at a time.

Dream Director: Having proved his worth with 1987’s Dolls, I can’t think of a worthier man than Stuart Gordon.

Tagline: Getting the song out of your head will be the least of your problems...especially when you no longer have a head.

The Enchanted Tiki Room

A snob-filled yacht gets thrown off course while sailing through the Pacific, washing up on an eden-like isle blossoming with tropical greenery. After a playful montage wherein the leads bask in the sun and squeeze out some mango juice, the brattiest of the well-tanned millionaires (we’ll say John Hannah) spots a rainbow-hued bird and in a misguided attempt to impress his friend’s wife/hopeful mistress (Madonna, attempting to redeem herself for Swept Away), he hurls a coconut shell at its beak and kills one of island’s enchanted creatures. Everyone laughs at the prospect of eating poultry with their banana leaves, but the fun stops when its brethren flies home to seek vengeance. This being a Disney movie, the villainous vultures (or toucans most likely) spout G-rated one-liners with the voices of such esteemed artists as Mel Gibson, Robin Williams, and Wanda Sykes, all while shredding the faces off of a few bad people eventually waiting to be weeded out for one to learn a valuable lesson.

Dream Director: Joe Dante, for his established record balancing the fine line between monster massacres and good old fashioned family fun.

Tagline: The early bird gets your soul.

The Hall of Presidents

Plain and simple: America needs more historical horror. We’re a country still stained by slavery, civil war, genocide of native population and corruption. Let’s start remembering with a simple tale about a school trip gone terribly, terribly wrong when a busload of unruly students awaken the spirits of every former head of state. They’re not necessarily interested in prosecuting the kids, but when a juvenile delinquent gets in between the slave-holding George Washington (Ian McKellan) and a suddenly reinvigorated Honest Abe (the guy that played Lincoln in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure and a bunch of commercials featuring a talking squirrel), collateral damage is inevitable. Now, a detention-bound gang of teens must choose sides between Republicans and Democrats, abolitionists and Jim Crow supporters, Manifest Destiny and the Monroe Doctorine. Think epic one-on-one fight scenes by rickety slightly-past middle aged white men occasionally aided by young boys and girls choosing sides and political parties. 

Dream Director: Wouldn’t you love to see the screwball spirit of unleashed Sam Raimi slightly classed up by the prestige of American history?

Tagline: You won’t fall asleep in this history lesson.

Country Bear Jamboree

If Del Toro can rejuvenate something Eddie Murphy soiled, then surely there’s a filmmaker of note that can hone in on the true terror of animatronic carnivores wielding banjos. A story could be as simple as Goldilocks (a freshly paroled Lindsay Lohan dusting off her Disney princess crown with a hint of I Know Who Killed Me trashiness) stumbling upon what seems like a friendly family of musically gifted bears. We’ll throw a House of the Devil twist that reveals the bears’ talents to be harnessed over centuries of mating with unlucky humans subsequently sacrificed. It’s almost as scary as the 2002 film.

Dream Director: Since the normally go-to director of fantastical creatures of the night will be busy with 3D ghosts, let’s watch David Cronenberg delve back into his Broodish body horror with man-bears, man-bear spawn, and all the mishaps in between.

Tagline: Didn’t mother tell you not to play with bears?

The Mad Tea Party

Honestly, I don’t really know how one would make a film out of what I equate to 2 minutes of pure torture in a pastel purgatory, but this current climate for near-snuff Serbian Films certainly shows the audience is there. 

Director: Gaspar Noe. The man and his spinning camera may have been born for this chance.

Tagline: You should have ordered coffee.

Have a story for Space Mountain? A plot to resurrect Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride? Share your thoughts and keep your hands and feet inside the comment box at all times.

The Horror of Hype

Genre fans tend to feel a little unpatrioritc pledging allegiance to the same mass-produced flag saluted by 80% of the general public. We’re far more comfortable digging our way through dusty, sometimes crusty DVDs in questionable basement or neon lit video stores than we are sitting amongst the Friday night crowd at the week’s big release. 

It’s no wonder then that movies like Paranormal Activity throw some of us for a loop. How, you ask, could I possibly enjoy the same film that my coworker with the Twilight screensaver has been raving about all month? At the same time, we also get stuck trying to evaluate our own opinions amidst the chokingly thick fog of fanboy enthusiasm that surrounds new cult favorites like Hatchet and Grace. 

So how, you ask, can one navigate the dead-end, it’s-not-as-good-as-people-say labyrinth that is viewer hype? To find a map, we first have to consider the type o’ hype, and I don’t just say that because rhyming is fun.

1.  Long Awaited Hype 

Admit it: you drooled like an overly hydrated zombie when details surrounding Land of the Dead surfaced, just as you giddily brushed off your boomstick at the sound of Sam Raimi returning to his horror roots with Drag Me to Hell. When our childhood heroes reupholster their bloodstained director’s chairs, our own expectations can grow to unreachable heights. Thus, when George Romero makes a decent, if weirdly clean smelling zombie film with a happy ending in the 21st century, we put aside the flaws of the obnoxiously acted Day of the Dead and its own cheat of a final shot in order to blast horror’s indie king for seeming to sell out for CGI and Canada. 

As hard--or maybe impossible--as it is, any film needs to be seen on its own terms and unless it’s in 3D, with no tinted glasses to fog our sight. Sure, it’s depressing to watch Dario Argento continue to roll down a hill of film quality and near impossible to not look up the address of the actress narrating Diary of the Dead in the hopes of slaying her puppies and tearing our her vocal chords, but I promise you that these directors didn’t make these films simply because they hate you. Maybe they’ve lost touch or maybe their visions were simply more startling in another era. Either way, the main thing to remember is that a film should be judged against itself, not your memory of its older brother.

2.  Defensive Hype

There’s a reason nobody makes feel good features documenting the NY Yankees. We don’t care about winners born into luxury, and while not all genre fans can latch onto a sports analogy, everybody loves an underdog. 

Hence, horror loyalists stand on virtual soapboxes to warn passerbys about studio-backed cash cows like Saw while gleefully catching rides on The Midnight Meat Train. Is it fair? In theory, yes, but this comes from a long-suffering Met fan well accustomed to disappointment. Likewise, Lions Gate earned genre fan disapproval when it failed to give a wide release to 2008‘s public transportation terror trip, and I waved my fist in solidarity. 

Then I saw the movie.

While it wasn’t nearly as awful as some recent remade offerings (I’m still washing out my eyeballs for the stain imprinted by Black Xmas)Midnight Meat Train just....wasn’t good. Well-acted and polished, but dank, oddly plotted, and ultimately, quite uninvolving. Aside from battle ready horror fans and Cliver Barker bookworms, would full price ticket buyers really have wanted to spend their Friday night allowance on such an unlikable film? The same could easily be said for Repo! The Genetic Opera, a polarizing rock opera that amassed an army of devotees alongside a migraine suffering horde of conflicted haters.

The best solution I can conjure is to assume nothing. Praise the idea of an original film and support its release for people to actually see, but don’t force yourself to love something that simply isn’t your taste pallet. This leads us to ...

3. But I’m Supposed To Love This, Right?

What do you mean, you didn’t want to marry Hatchet and have its pickaxe babies? And really: what are you doing going out to a Halloween party when you could be home rewatching Trick ‘r Treat, aka The Greatest Horror Film Of All Time, for the ninetieth time this week? 

Of all the hypes out in the cinematic universe, this may be the most difficult to overcome. After two years of nearly universal ravings about a little unreleased horror anthology, it’s hard to watch a film without feeling sadly underwhelmed, angrily disappointed, or unconsciously bullied into submission (remember: Alllllllllllllll the boys love Mandy Lane). 

We could certainly try to build our own Skinner boxes and block out any rumblings from around the genre community, but in the age of blogs, podcasts, and bootlegs, that’s about as realistic as Martyrs getting an Oscar for best foreign film (what, you agree? you didn’t like Martyrs? What kind of fan are you?) Ultimately there is no such thing as a universal opinion, even in a more isolated specimen like the horror community. There’s nothing wrong with not loving a film that makes Fangoria swoon, but try to not let your dislike grow with the positivity of others; don’t hate it more just to match the positive intensity of those who enjoyed it. The best way to handle this is to return to the film several months--or years--after its buzz has been died down. Sometimes, you can only discover what your genuine thoughts are after they don’t seem to matter anymore.

4.  Mainstream Mania

In many ways, Gore Verbinski has earned a rigidly uncomfortable seat for himself in the filmmaker realm of hell. No, the mini pirate boom of the 00s wasn’t that bad, but his fairly big budgeted Americanized take on Ringu is the heavily botoxed grandma when it comes to remakes, aka the Scourge of 21st Century Horror. And to think, most of 2002‘s The Ring‘s impressive box office return came straight out of the pockets of...well...everyone. Men, women, eighth graders...you couldn’t throw your popcorn without hitting someone raving about that randomly scary film they caught in the theaters, much as

Paranormal Activity and 1999’s The Blair Witch Project commandeered a normally neutral audience immune to the haunts of quiet horror.

So where does that leave you? You can’t be the only one in the office without a take on why Michael was standing in the corner, and more importantly, you may be the only one with the sense to explain that no dear, Heather, Michael, & Josh are NOT still lost in the Burketsville woods. Plus, if you avoid a film just because everybody else didn’t, you might actually miss a good movie.

Think of the experience like dining in a fancy, highly recommended but seemingly overrated restaurant you’ve yet to patron. You have to make reservations. Wait 45 minutes and still end up in a less than desirable seating area, then deal with rude waiters. After all that, even a decent meal can’t live up to the hype. Likewise, when watching a too-talked about film, one must be careful to judge it on its own terms. Any extra effort only adds to the aggravation and inevitable unmet expectation. 

In other words, wait a month into a film’s run and hit up an economy priced matinee. Make sure that when you give the film your less-than-premium-price dollars, you can judge the film on its own merits, rather than the experience that surrounded your viewing.

5. Late-to-the-Party Classics

We’ve all hear our parents and grandparents wax nostalgic on how Frankenstein lurched through their nightmares and Psycho made Janet Leigh swear off showering, but depending on your initiation process into genre cinema, many older classics can fall flat on modern eyes. Some timeless films work in any era, but when you’ve eaten cereal shaped like smiling vampires, it’s hard to accept that Bela Lugosi’s Dracula was once a force to be feared.

In order to enjoy a film that’s been written about for 30+ years, it helps to understand why it’s still relevant in today’s cinematic universe. Something like Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, for example, may seem rather--well, silent--upon a blind watch, but pop in the special edition after after Blade Runner, Total Recall, or Dark City and note some of the architectural inspiration. From Birth to JoshuaRosemary’s Baby as the matriarch of eerily sterile NYC thrillers. Sometimes, the only way to fully appreciate an older, possibly dated film is to go backwards and watch with your head, not heart.

So which films have you hated due to humongous hype, or felt never had a true chance in the face of overexposure? Share your thoughts but remember: don’t get too excited. Then I’ll have to figure out what the Hype-Over-Hype-Type-Hype means, and that gives me a bigger headache than hearing Bill Moseley duet with Paris Hilton.

13 Sequels to Make You Swoon

If you've yet to visit the wonderful blog that is The Lightning Bug's Lair, then you are not worthy of having your soul switched into the body of homicidal plastic doll. But thankfully, most homicidal plastic dolls are pretty cool about second (and third, fourth, and fifth) chances, so head there today. Not only is there some super entertaining content, but this month, Mr. T.L. Bugg has been compiling a grand assortment of reviews for horror sequels. Even better, he's been enlisting the help of other bloggers to chime in with their own favorites. Today, the contributor is none other than yours truly.

Come here for my top 13 film sequels of all time.

Warning: There will be Ewoks, and thus I now prepare myself for much Endorian battle.

Teenage Wasteland

Like many a diehard horror fan, I tend to let out a snooty scoff when a darkly lit trailer ends with the ominously voiced narrator slowing down to deliver a PG13 rating. I haven’t been 13 for some time, and even when I was, you could usually bet a few plastic rings and JNCO jeans that my allowance was funding films like Now and Then while my screams were hurled at Scream. Buy-and-switch sneak-ins were simply the norm, especially during the mid-90s, before studio heads discovered the market for young teenage thrillers.  

A few Screams and R.L. Stine novels later, producers wised up. Today, one can usually count on finding some form of horror  on the big screen and more often than not, it’s trimmed down to lure 14 year-old boys whose mothers have better things to do than escort them to an R-rated movie. It’s hard to imagine an AMC theater without mildly risque comedies and blue-hued remakes of Asian cinema, but the American PG13 rating is barely legal itself, having only been instituted in 1984 following the intense PG violence of films like Gremlins and Temple of Doom. (Parents, take note: just because Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things is rated PG does not mean it was the inspiration for Toy Story). Tobe Hooper famously tried for a PG with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre which seems laughable amid the rampant meathooks and cannibalism. In actuality, there’s little blood and no nudity, much like the inappropriately haunting PG rated classic Tourist Trap and today, both would most likely earn a PG13.

I bring this up in part as a response to the surprisingly lackluster opening weekend of Drag Me to Hell, the rare horror film that earned an incredible 86% positive critical rating (courtesy of Rotten Tomatoes) but garnered a mere $15.8 million at the box office. Were audiences were turned off the the unRaimi-like teenage-baiting rating?

Drag Me to Hell is not a masterpiece, but in my opinion, it should serve as a template for the potential of PG13 horror. Raimi doesn’t need the R because the film works with carefully orchestrated scares, subtle black humor, and perfectly timed cuts. You know, the way a traditional little horror movie is supposed to be.

Since the success of The Ring and the juggernaut that is Saw, American studio horror has, in a sense, been divided into hardcore Rs (Hostel, Halloween  ) and glossier PG13 (Prom Night,  The Fog). While there are plenty of nonformulaic gems nestled into the PG13 category, I confess to having a genuine bias towards films that seemed marketed and made for the mall crowd.

But as Drag Me to Hell reminds me, PG13 doesn’t have to mean neutered. Older classics like Jaws and The Haunting hold up because the scares aren’t dependent on the spillage of human innards (not that there’s anything wrong with that, as anything by Romero and its timeliness today proves). The Others and The Sixth Sense are prime examples of how ghost films do fine with showing less, while the bubblegum goofiness of Eight Legged Freaks gives you Starship Troopers violence without the boob and blood. Meanwhile, a piece of dreck like Captivity tried to capitalize on filmgoers tiring of CW network pretty boys and girls getting mildly injured by inserting over-the-top gore scenes that would make Jigsaw blush.

Personally, I’ll always heart an R-rated film that uses its freedom wisely. I admire the recent home invasion flick The Strangers for accepting an R despite limited violence that could easily have been edited down and I’ll cry the day Final Destination or the Chucky series starts to let 8th graders inside. But in the wake of such cinematic puke like Black Christmas 06, sometimes, a tamer, more disciplined PG13 like The Uninvited doesn’t look so deplorable. I’m the first to rail against something like a Hannah Montana headlined Battle Royale remake, but  ultimately, in the right hands, a good film can always be made.

Share your thoughts (or rants) below. I’m especially curious to hear about secretly good PG13, irresponsibly tagged PG film memories of the past, and your verdict on Snakes On a Plane’s R rating concession. 

I Hear That Hell Is Suuuuuch a Drag

Let me start by offering an olive branch to any Gypsy I’ve ever wronged. I can’t imagine that the number is high, but like any imperfect human, I’ve cut off some drivers, taken a subway seat at the cost of an ambiguously aged stander, and given poor directions to strangers when in a rush.


In other words, I don’t have a lot of human sins chewing on my conscience. In other other words, if any of the victims of these seemingly minor crimes happen to have boiling Romani blood, please accept my deepest apologies in the form of your choice of home-baked muffin, cheesecake, or kitten.


As you may have guessed, I followed up Fangoria with a midnight trip to the cinema and while it doesn't revolutionize the genre, the gleeful little Drag Me To Hell is likely to make horror geeks happy and Gypsy rights’ activists offended. Sam Raimi’s critically celebrated (but so far audience-ignored) “return-to-his-roots” certainly kicks the CGI’d ass of Tobey Maguire and could teach Platinum Dunes a few lessons in how to make a horror movie. Storywise, on the other hand, it could probably learn a new trick.


Quick Plot: A young banker (Allison Lohman) is itching to climb the career ladder, but her lack of ruthlessness in loan foreclosures and skill at sandwich runs are holding her behind her oily rival. Naturally, the best way to impress the boss is to deny the mysteriously glassy eyed client Mrs. Ganush an extension, which would be fine if the old crone didn’t have that convenient ability to curse souls to an eternity of hell.

Despite being directed by a man responsible for one of the biggest blockbusters of recent years, Drag Me To Hell is a small movie, and a wise one at that. Lohman gets some help from Justin Long as her nice-guy boyfriend, but for the most part, this is a simple story about one woman crossing the wrong Gypsy. The small scope makes it a speedy and intense, if slightly forgettable 90 minutes. There are quite a few genuine scares and moments of yuck, plus some sharply humorous beats. The final product is like a Raimi brunch, a savory egg-white omelette seasoned with some R.L. Stine-ish flavor and served with a complimentary glass of embalming fluid juice (pulp content= high). The PG13 rating takes nothing away, and is almost something of a refreshment following the blatantly boob-heavy horror of recent months.


High Points
Lohman creates a vulnerable, conflicted, and overall sympathetic person as Christine...which is pretty vital, since she’s onscreen the entire film

While there have been plenty of parking garage suspense scenes, the car fight here is quite well done


Animal violence has never been so carefully, cleverly and non-offensively executed (offscreen)


Low Points
Was Lohman’s past as a “fat girl” there to flesh out (no pun intended) her character, or did Raimi cross the line in channelling Stephen King’s Thinner?

Upon first hearing, I loved the ring the title “Drag Me To Hell” had. But really, is this a command that makes any sense? Shouldn’t it be something like “Don’t Drag Me to Hell,” "I'm Going To Try Really Hard To Not Get Dragged To Hell," or, if the grammatical tense matters, “Drag Her To Hell?”


Maybe it’s just that every review or conversation I’ve heard regarding Drag Me To Hell mentions Raimi’s CGI mastery, but I wasn’t entirely sold on some of the colder computer effects

Lessons Learned
Coin collecting is dangerous. Entertain your children with some other hobby, like origami or the Sims


The best way to a WASPy mother’s heart is through harvest pie


Do I really need to say it? If Josh Whedon, Stephen King, the Wolf Man, and scores of other fiction haven’t already taught you this, do not, under any circumstance, give Gypsies a reason to hurt you. Duh.

Full Price/Sneak In/Stay Home
This is a film that deserves to be embraced, and you should consider paying for a matinee as a way to throw your figurative arms around it. By no means is this a classic on Evil Dead levels or a nightmare-inducing terrorfest like The Descent, but Drag Me to Hell is an enjoyable and genuinely jumpy horror movie that at least merits a bigger opening than a piece of camp mascot poop like Friday the 13th. If your budget is truly limited, then waiting for a DVD release won’t kill you (or damn your soul to what promises to be a very unpleasant afterlife). This is good clean (and oozing) fun that would probably make a great entry into harder-core horror for newbies (I imagine it would have gone over better at sleepovers than my 14 year old pick, Mother’s Day), yet still works as a hearty throwback for tried and true fans.