Thorny Family Issues

For many women among and around my generation, V.C. Andrews is something of a patron saint. Flowers In the Attic was my bridge from reading about the Babysitters Club's G-rated exploits to passing through the hall of J.R. Landsdale and Anne Rice. I spent MANY a rainy afternoon envisioning how the Dollanger series should be filmed (because obviously, Jeffrey Bloom's messy 1986 attempt just didn't count), going so far as to predict which roles would be nominated for Oscars, which sequels would be reviewed poorly (Petals On the Wind because it's insane), and what inevitable changes would have to happen onscreen.

I was, to put it mildly, a smidgen obsessed.

Though I didn't know it back then, I was also far from being alone. While I couldn't convince any of my friends to embark upon a 400+ page novel that would have have to be hidden from parents and the Internet wasn't quite the playground of common interests it has since become, the last few years have demonstrated that there were far more t(w)eenagers in the late '80s/early '90s who fell in love with the beautiful, talented, strong-willed heroines who suffered and triumphed (though usually more suffered) through the pages. Not mention the groovy keyhole book covers.

It really did seem like a gift from the gods-Emily-worshipped-when-she-was-eleven when Lifetime committed to adapting Andrews' first pretty-girl-in-peril series. Its take on Flowers In the Attic wasn't without its flaws, but it excused almost every one of them with the masterful acting lesson that is Ellen Burstyn. Petals On the Wind was as trashily over the top as anyone who read the book could have hoped for (to remind you, the book included the following: a sociopath nymphomaniac ballerina, a kind-hearted doctor who's actually miserable because he raped his frigid wife and put her in an insane asylum, a born again but suicidal little sister, our heroine seducing her mother's husband, our heroine torturing her invalid grandmother, our heroine impersonating her mother and revealing all the dark secrets at a fancy Christmas party, and much, much more).

Look kids! It's negligent-turned-homicidal mom Barbie & friends!

Flowers In the Attic and Petals On the Wind were huge ratings hits for Lifetime. For whatever stroke of idiotic logic, the network decided to release the final two chapters with little fanfare, airing the two films on the same night with hardly any marketing pushes. It took my Netflix DVD queue (yes, I still use it) to finally get my hands on the third installment and my once-favorite novel, If There Be Thorns. And since the lead character is none other than a troubled little boy, what better place to discuss it than the Doll(anger)'s House during Shortening season?

Quick Plot: For those who have not been following the tragic exploits of the Dollanger family, here's a quick recap:

Beautiful widow Corinne (beautiful void Heather Graham) locked her four children up in her parents' mansion in order to charm her way back into her dying millionaire father's will. During those four years in captivity, the teens battled adolescent hormones and a mutual attraction that got rather rapey. Eventually, the youngest died, and the remaining three--responsible wannabe doctor eldest Chris, feisty ballerina Cathy, and sad tiny remaining twin Carrie--escaped, building a new life to the best they could. Carrie eventually killed herself, while Cathy had a child named Jory with an abusive dancer (who then killed himself) and another with Bart, the husband of her estranged mother. Bart then died in a fire (not killing himself, for once) and Chris, who could never get over his first love, swooped in to marry Cathy and move her far away to raise their sons in peace and anonymity.

If There Be Thorns picks up a few years into the now Sheffields' idyllic existence. Jory is now a strapping young man who dances and has sex with his girlfriend a lot (seriously) while Bart is...different.

One day, a mysterious, wealthy "old" lady moves in to the mansion down the road along with her butler Johnamos (and I write it that way because he is only ever referred to as "Johnamos", sort of the "Anne Perkins" of his time). This fancy dame, who looks an awful lot like Heather Graham with powder dusted over her eyebrows, is, of course, none other than Corinne Foxworth/Dollanger/Winslow, murderous mother to Bart's incestuous parents. 

Corinne, like all grandmothers who once locked her children up in an attic and tried to poison them with arsenic laced sugar cookies, just wants her kids to like her again. To do this, she spoils Bart, showering him in the usual little boy gifts like pet snakes and bow and arrows. She also, rather casually, informs the already-uneasy kid that his mother and stepfather are also brother and sister. Have a cookie!

Meanwhile, Johnamos takes his own shine to Bart and begins to tutor him on the art of the deal, or whatever great grandfather Malcolm Foxworth's journal is titled. See, Elder Foxworth was something of a religious, horrible man who hated women and sin. The impressionable, newly "holy shit, my parents are siblings" destroyed Bart begins to take Malcolm's words as gospel. Before too long, he's trying to drown his newly adopted little sister and slut-shaming his once loyal older brother. 

Eventually, Cathy and Chris remember that they have children and realize something is very, very wrong.  

I often consider myself a terrible reviewer when it comes to adaptations of books that I have read because I usually find it impossible to not bring all the emotions/insider knowledge that you amass from reading the (usually) more thorough source material to my viewing experience. Thankfully, it's been well over two decades since I read alternating chapters narrated by Bart and Jory Sheffield, so while some of those long ago teen memories did indeed flow back, I think I'm also at a far safer distance to see this film on its own merits.

And boy, what a tale it is. Directed by Nancy Savoca, If There Be Thorns, much like its predecessors, isn't shy about telling the story of, well, a family troubled by, you know, ISSUES. Cathy and Chris are a beautiful, perfect, sexually active couple...who happen to be siblings. Bart is a troubled young boy who might be developing multiple personality disorder. His grandmother is a murderer who whines about her surviving kids not getting over such a silly thing as being locked in one room for four years and, you know, poisoned. There's even an angry blackmailer in the midst!

All of this would work so much better if Heather Graham had an ounce of acting talent, but sadly, every actress who has ever been stalked or deceived or kidnapped in a Lifetime movie looks like Meryl Streep in comparison. It's a genuine shame because she really does bring the weight of If There Be Thorns down. On one hand, it almost adds to the camp value. On the other, she's just really, really terrible. 

If you've followed the series this far, that shouldn't keep you from this one. If There Be Thorns doesn't quite hit the camp notes of the insane Petals On the Wind, nor does flirt with actual goodness like the Burstyn-containing Flowers In the Attic. Still, with its odd tone and utter commitment to V.C. Andrews' tics, I pretty much got exactly what I wanted out of this movie.

High Points

While not made on a big budget, there's an honest commitment to achieving the right visual atmosphere that was so important in the novels. Mysterious fog, secret-riddled woods, and decaying mansions go a long way in situating the viewer in the right tone

Low Points

There's bad acting, and then there's Heather Graham. Boogie Nights aside, has this woman ever given a performance that made you believe she was the character she was playing? Sure, we can blame miscasting for From Hell, but this is her third go around as this character, and MY GOD, it has all of the depth as a cashier reading back your takeout order. 

Lessons Learned

Special people deserve special attention

Nothing kills a ballet career like falling off an 18" high stage in slow motion

Chicks are turned off by incest, even if they otherwise seem to want to do nothing else but have sex with you

In Case You Were Wondering...

...why Bart doesn't seem to be bothered by the infected Cronenbergian gash on his arm, allow me to say that in the novel, Bart has a super rare, super convenient condition wherein he has no sense of touch (?) and doesn't feel pain. It makes sense on the page. Some. It makes some--a little, a tad of sense in the book.

The Winning Line
Chris to Cathy: "He's 12, remember what you were doing at that age?"
There's nothing odd about this line...unless you remember that when Cathy was 12, her older brother (now husband) was raping her

Rent/Bury/Buy

Lifetime seems frustratingly stingy with the Dollanger series, so for the time being, the only ways to legally watch this one is via DVD rental or joining the Lifetime Movie Club (sorry LMN, but I'm already paying too much for cable in part so that I can always default to the LMN channel when I need a small dose of stalkers or seductive stepmothers). That being said, V.C. Andrews fans will enjoy this one as much as the rest of the series, which I'd say rates at least a few dead blond twins and swan beds.  

A Special Kind of Nanny

If there’s a movie about an anatomically correct medical mannequin that somehow inspires family strife and murder, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s getting covered here at the Doll’s House. Hence, after sitting atop my queue through the change of the seasons, 1988’s cult classic Pin finally gets its chance.

Quick Plot: Ursula and Leon grow up under the questionable parenting skills of their haughty mom and doctor dad, a cold and clinical man who naturally earns a few raised eyebrows based primarily on the fact that he’s played by Terry O’Quinn. For the kids, the warmest relationship they seem to have is with Pin, the full-size medical dummy that  hangs out in dad’s office and occasionally offers advice, makes bets for clothing, has sex with the middle aged nurse and explains the birds and bees.

Naturally, Ursula and Leon don’t grow up to be Mr. and Ms. Well Adjusted. Ursula takes a few trips to the backseats of the football team, eventually leading to an abortion at 15 performed by...dad. Naturally. 

Leon, on the flip side, blossoms into the awkward David Hewlett (yes, the surly dude from Cube), a promising young man with little personal skills and a continued obsession with befriending Pin. When their parents die in a car accident, a frilly aunt attempts to move in but to Leon, the tragedy is the perfect chance to make Pin an official member of the family.

Pin is certainly an odd film, one that seems to scream ‘cult classic!’ in its very concept. Within the first few scenes, I felt a strong Flowers In the Attic vibe, something that made perfect sense once I learned it was based on a novel by future V.C. Andrews ghostwriter, Andrew Neiderman. Like those modern gothic tales or 1980’s Magic, Pin is far more about the dysfunction bred in cold families (particularly those upper class Caucasian ones) than the exploits of a killer doll.

There is indeed something strange about Pin, but it’s clearly Leon who needs a little help. Ursula pieces it together from a part-time job at the library, where she spends some time working, some time flirting, and a fair amount of the rest researching schizophrenia. Leon is damaged and confused, primarily from being raised in such a detached manner coupled with his own possible leanings towards mental illness. The story of Pin could have been told without the presence of a creepy skinless mannequin, but director Sandor Stern and his strong cast work off it to create a unique and unsettling tale.

High Points

The characterization of Ursula and Leon works incredibly throughout the film, an impressive feat when we see them as innocent children, curious adolescents, daring teenagers and finally, sad adults

Low Points

There’s definitely a drag felt in the film’s latter half, where there’s not necessarily a drive at any conclusion

Lessons Learned

When working in a library, avoid the urge to hum

If you’re normal, you can look forward to eventually feeling ‘the need’

Counting down from 100 by 7s is hard at any age

Rent/Bury/Buy

Pin is oddly hard to find on DVD, but North American audiences should take advantage of it streaming on Netflix. The film is far from perfect, but it’s quietly creepy and truly unique, well worth 90 minutes out of your evening. Plus, this is probably your only chance to see John Locke perform ventriloquism and letting that pass you by is akin to not pushing that button in 108 minutes. Think on that, won’t you?

Horrible Non-Horror! The Twilight Edition

I did it. 

It hurt. A lot.

Why you ask, would someone with such refined taste as myself (said as I dust off the cover to The Refrigerator) possibly embark on such an inevitably ill-fated journey into the realm of tween romance and Mormon metaphors growing like weeds in the Twilight saga? No, it wasn’t peer pressure stemming from the fact that several coworkers have prominent screensavers highlighting the cheekbones of starring minors. A more noble cause, I promise.

I don’t like to trash something I haven’t seen. For all I know, Maid of Honor is a charming romance, The Backup Plan should win J-Lo an Oscar, and Nicholas Sparks is this generation’s James Joyce. As much as I allow my eyeballs to make a full ecliptical roll when I hear these kinds of trailers, I try to stop myself from actively criticizing if I have yet to personally experience them. That’s part of why Saw has such a bad wrap and I simply don’t like it.

Neither does Costas.

And thus, with beer in the fridge, pizza in my belly, and dear friend Erica (and gleeKast cohostess-Episode 2 now available!) supplying the DVDs, I sat back and entered Forks, Washington, population: angst.

Quick Plot: 

You pretty much know it, but for the uninformed, here goes: Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart) moves to a small town to live with her sheriff dad Chris. Despite the fact that her classmates seem to be very welcoming, Bella prefers to be miserable by stalking Edward Cullen, her pasty lab partner who spends about 65% of his life angrily walking away from people, 30% trying not to vomit, and the remaining 5% ensuring that the height of his hair puts Luke Perry’s circa Season 1 of 90210 to shame. They eventually fall in love (I guess; neither’s voice ever registers more than a sprinkle of emotion so it’s not easy to detect) and about 80 minutes in, experience CONFLICT.

Not in the form of Edward’s vampirism (remember, he’s a vegetarian who only eats animals...which-nevermind) but rather, a feuding tribe of glowering undead who really dig the scent of unpleasant 17 year old girls. And thus a hunt proceeds and the prom happens. Then there’s a Stabilizer-ish music video recapping the greats screen shots for end credits and I cry a little inside.

Onto New Moon, an amazing feat of utter boredom mixed with hilariously cashed in -on opportunities to display young men sans shirts. We catch up with Bella and Edward as their relationship has progressed to serious staring into each others’ eyes territory. Upon her 18th birthday, Miss Mopey gets a paper cut (in slo mo) and the Cullen clan realize her delectable potential puts her in danger of becoming soup. Edward and Co. exit town, leaving an even more sedated Bella to pout, her now miserable life only uplifted by the presence of yet another mysterious and handsome peer named Jacob’s Six Pack, the adrenaline rushes she gets trying to kill herself (and often tells us about, leading us to wonder if it paid for product placement) and the occasional Obi Won Kenobi-ish glimpses of floating Edward heads. Mostly though, Bella likes to moan about how there’s nothing to live for now that her former prom date is on the road.

Doesn’t this kid have SATs to prepare for? College applications? An afterschool job at the local diner? She has friends--admittedly rather obnoxious and chirpy, but nice enough--but Bella is, essentially, a feminist’s worst nightmare. A pretty young woman who cannot function without the support of a man, be it an emotionally abusive vampire or concerned werewolf with a crush. When Edward leaves, Bella’s as good as dead. When Jacob goes, she proceeds to cry again over Edward. “You can’t break up with me,” she pleads, even though nothing in their relationship ever suggested the fact that she and Six Pack were dating. Sure, he was willing to whip off his t-shirt to clean up a spot of blood on her head, but does Bella have to be the center of everyone’s universe? Especially when she has the personality and spark of a corn nut?

Finally, 90 minutes into the film, we get some news of something somewhat potentially interesting happening. Edward’s in Italy, about to sparkle under the Tuscan sun with the Volturi high council. I’ll confess that I dozed off a minute or two here, during which I assume I missed Bella googling visa protocol and finding a great flight deal on Priceline.com. 

Anyway, Italy, stuff, Edward, windchime sound effects, Dakota Fanning in contacts, old men grumbling, slo-mo speed fights, and in the film’s only real saving grace, the great (and genre-supportive) Michael Sheen as Aro, head over-the-top vampire boss who seemed to learn a few lessons in spangles and stares from Sheen’s Underworld costar Bill Nighy. In case you can’t guess, it ends moodily happy with thinly veiled metaphors regarding chastity until marriage.

I accept that I am not the target audience for the Twilight saga. Perhaps 15 years ago, when my nose was permanently lodged into a V.C. Andrews saga, I would have been mildly interested in a mashup of young love and undead limitations but in as objective as a voice as I can muster, this is indeed a horrid, horrid world of offensive melodrama. As a young teenager, I enjoyed the adventures of Cathy Dollanger in Flowers in the Attic not because she was beautiful, loved, and the target of abuse, but because in the face of devastating events, she maintained a spirit in overcoming it to protect herself and family. 

The vampires and Bella are utterly selfish and despicable beings. Observe how they watch as an extended tour group--complete with children--marches into certain death via vampire festival right before the final scene in Italy. “Keep walking,” Edward instructs Bella who, of course, listens to everything he has to say and does. I don’t require my protagonists to be heroic, but these are, essentially, supermonsters who we as the audience are supposed to be enthralled by. Why oh why should we have ANY investment in their fate when they clearly care so little about anything but their own?

Bella, meanwhile, is defined entirely by the men who pass into and out of her life. Yes, many 17 year old girls prioritize relationships, but by 18, don’t you start to consider the direction of your life? Can’t suicide wait for graduation or the sequel to Face Punch?

There’s room for intriguing plot points. I like the idea of a barechested gang of young muscle men representing a certain analogy for homosexuality (sample quote “It’s not a lifestyle choice. I was born this way.”) but knowing Stephanie Meyers’ conservative Mormon leanings, I don’t imagine that’s the way this turns out.

Random Relish (not worthy of actually being High Points)

Can’t help but love the fact that in Italy, elevator music = operatic muzak

For awkward third wheel date night, Bella chooses the movie “Face Punch” and we get to hear a few bits of dialog. Also, I realize I would much rather be watching Face Punch.

In a movie filled with mumbling actors, one must turn on some subtitles, something that often brings out the best in scriptwriting. My favorite example refers to a motion of Edward which my screen read “Sighs Exasperatedly.” The best part is that there was about nine times more emotion in that line than there was in Pattinson’s actual delivery

Winning Lines

“Hold on tight, spider monkey.”

So many victories in this sentence. 1) It’s the dumbest pet name ever 2) It’s followed by a piggy back ride that recalls Luke’s training montage with Yoda wrapped around his shoulders and 3) It’s insanely ridiculous

“I wish I could explain but I literally can’t.”

Maybe if these kids spent more time paying attention in English class as opposed to bulking up, they would be able to explain. And understand the definition of ‘literally.’

“Is it possible that everything is true? The fairy tales and horror stories?Is it possible that there isn’t anything sane or normal at all?”

What does this even mean? The kid’s already witnessed her boyfriend sparkle and her friend morph into a CGI infused werewolf. Can’t she just accept that yes indeed, Santa completes his duties in one night and leprechauns like shoes?

Stake In the Heart

Dear Twilight: I’ll forgive some of your inanity, but do not, do not DARE to make any sort of reference, however passing it may be to Dawn of the Dead

Lessons Learned

You can google a lot of things, including the word “adrenaline rush” and how to find a book about a legend, where to purchase said book, and directions to take in reaching the place of purchase. Yes, we get a whole sequence devoted to Google Maps. 

In order to woo the pretty weird new girl, make sure you treat her like shit and constantly walk away while she’s talking. Chicks dig that.

The name ‘Bella’ is Italian

Ain’t no adults cooler than lingo-spouting Native American paraplegics!

Rent/Bury/Buy

As I stated before, I don’t approve of anybody mocking any movie until an actual watch. When it comes to something like the juggernaut of Twilight, you almost have try it in order to properly criticize the dreadful messages the saga sends. I wouldn’t feel so much anger towards a mere high school romance if I didn’t think this series is positively awful when it comes to portraying women, something particularly dangerous to the sensitive tween audience eating it up like Jelly Bellies. As I explained, it's worth catching ten minutes of to at least mount a solid defense against your cubicle neighbor, babysitter, or random subway rider you feel the need to educate. I take no real pleasure in announcing my opinion that Twilight and New Moon are painful experiences in both film and feminism. As a responsible masochist, I suffered through it and admit feeling a tad stronger as a result.

Even Tony Blair is proud of me!

Now let us never talk about this mess again.

The Evil of Expectations

I don’t normally get excited by big studio releases, but my blood is pumping fast over the opening of Terminator: Salvation, and not because it stars my favorite short-tempered Newsie. Based on the previews and early reviews, this is the Terminator film I’ve been craving since the world got its first peek of the tech savvy apocalypse in 1981. Though rife with garbled Schwarzeneggerian-isms, the recent third installment was an aching disappointment for me because I had to wait 2+ hours to reach that plot. And then the movie ended. 

Quite simply, it wasn’t the story I wanted to see. I know, who am I, some lowly copy editor and amateur bloggist, to give screenwriting advice to a multimillion dollar franchise. I am one fan. But all this giddiness at Memorial Day’s big release did get me thinking quite selfishly, of other films that had potential, but failed my personal expectations, not by quality but in the basic plot and direction.

1)In the Mouth of Madness

John Carpenter changed the scope of horror filmdom with Halloween and made Rogaine evil in Body Bags . The guy knows how to make a good movie, but more importantly, the dude can create unique cinema with philosophically evocative messages disguised as blue collar shoot ‘em ups or old fashioned bloodbaths. This 1995 horror stars Sam Neill as an insurance investigator who gets wrapped up in a mass market paperback inspired apocalypse (the worst kind there is, of course). Hidden under gooey monsters and ax-wielding extras, Carpenter makes a few passing statements about modern hero worship using a Stephen King stand-in that has developed such a strong literary following, he’s attained deity status.

In an age where a former coke addicted cheerleader spent 8 years as the symbol of family values, a presidential candidate gets his face branded on condoms, and the general public is more invested in the results of American Idol than the Iraq War, the possiblility that Dan Brown or J.J. Abrams could crown (or become) the next messiah is relevant and realistic. For a while, it seems as though In the Mouth of Madness will explore what happens when enough people believe someone to be a god. The possibilities of such a story direction are promising, but sadly, Carpenter doesn’t quite find it material enough for plotting. Instead, our final 20 minutes tiptoe away from the thought-provoking religious questions to plunge headfirst into monster mash territory, finally drifting away into rehashed The Twilight Zone territory. 

2)Elves

It’s not that a film about Nazi-bred elves, set in a shopping mall, and featuring Grizzly Adams as a heroic Santa Clause is a bad thing. I don’t know about you, but I find such a plot possible of yielding the greatest film of all time. If, of course, it actually had elves. But there’s just one, making this not only a disappointingly bad film but, far more offensively, a disappointingly bad, deceptively titled film. For shame.

3)Friday the 13th.12

There are quite a few F13 films I could have included in this category--the unFeldmaned Part V and my personal favorite, Jason Takes a 20 Minute Layover in Vancouverish Manhattan come to mind--but the 2009 remake/reboot/reshit is, is my opinion, utterly deplorable for failing blandly in two ways: it was neither affectionately nostalgic nor actually scary. In fact, it was everything I had feared it would be, minus the claw-my-own-eyes-out PG13 rating. I didn’t expect a remake of a never-that-good series to be cinematic gold, but a little energy, a little more intelligence, a smidgen of creativity, and, I don’t know, a utilized wood chipper could have at least merited the title of ‘reboot’ over ‘eleventh sequel.’

4) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning

Despite my grudging approval of the TCM remake, I had little expectations for this quick followup...that is, until I found out it would be a prequel centering on the origin of Leatherface. I like my cannibalistic cross dressers as much as the next gal, so imagine my excitement at seeing what I hoped would be a Glen Or Glenda-ish romp with a few Sears sponsored dismemberments tossed in. Sadly, Leartherface’s wonder years are quickly flashed through to get to the more telegenic and less interesting Jordana Brewster and her typical Abercrombie (but soooo 70s) friends. While I love me some scarily screaming R. Lee Ermey, this “beginning” ends up doing what every single entry in this five film franchise has done before.

5) Rob Zombie’s Halloween

Love it or hate it, you have to admit Zombie may have been onto something when he decided to explore the childhood sociopathy of Michael Meyers. With genre nobleman Malcolm McDowell cast as Dr. Loomis and young Tyler Mane providing some genuine misfit youthfulness, Zombie had the makings of something different. It’s just too bad he tried to cram it into 45 minutes, saving the second 45 for an unlikable Laurie Strode’s whining. Ultimately, Zombie’s film is torn between the chance it wants to take and yet another glossily gory reshoot studios love to push. 

7) Moscow Zero

Key words on Netflix synopsis: Val Kilmer as an evil gatekeeper to hell, which is apparently located under the Moscow subway (I’ve been there and it’s entirely believable)

Expectations=High 

Actually watching Moscow Zero: 90 minutes of black and blue scenery that’s barely visible, dialogue that’s nonsensical, and an early night’s sleep for me

8)Flowers in the Attic

As a well-read adult, I can now admit that V.C. Andrews adolescent exploitation is not quite Pulitzer worthy, but as a 14 year old whose previous girl-powered literature featured spunky babysitters, the Dollanger saga was engrossing, disturbing, and absolutely incredible. The film adaptation? None of those things. Victoria Tenant and Louise Fletcher are perfectly cast as old money matriarchs all too eager to lock four fair-haired children in a room for four years. Screenwriter and director Jeffrey Bloom, however, never seemed to grasp what made the novel resonate with millions of readers. It wasn’t just the setup; it was Cathy’s narration as a feistily flawed young woman stuck experiencing puberty while playing an elaborate game of house with her siblings. Andrews captures what it means to grow up, while using gothic drama as an exciting backdrop. Bloom makes a badly paced TV movie that skims on story, character, and ultimately feels like a melodrama about a retired Nurse Ratched being crabby to her too-cute grandkids. 

9) Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2

Juggernaut: An overwhelming, advancing force that crushes or seems to crush everything in its path

Flop: a complete failure

A quick revisit to Burkitsville was inevitable following the yet-to-be-matched blasting success of 1999’s found footage horror. Filmmakers Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez could have taken the easy route with a linear follow-up or Ginger Snaps Back style prequel, so it’s admirable that they tried something different. If only this meta sequel were any good. Any. (By any, I mean as little as .000001%). I include this film here not because of its fairly creative plot--obnoxious fans of the actual film camp out on location and subsequently meet their inner crazy and/or pissed off spirit of the unseen title femme--but because its script failure was so grandiose, it nearly guaranteed the death of any sequels that dared to try something new. Had Book of Shadows been executed with more skill, I sometimes imagine a better world, one with less I Still Know What You Did Back In the Day When People Careds and more Wes Craven’s New NIghtmares. Only with better films. 

10) Westworld

Dear Michael Bay,

You don’t know me and I don’t particularly like you. I’m sure you’re a nice enough man who pets the occasional puppy, but in all honesty, you’ve made some obscene errors when it comes to remaking films. Before you defend yourself with the adequate reincarnation of Leatherface, let me silence you with two words that, once uttered, should never be spoken of again: The. Hitcher. 

Now. This world believes in second chances (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mickey Rourke) and so I’m inviting you to take one by keeping your finely lotioned hands off of actual good classics like Rosemary’s Baby and focusing on some lesser fare of the past. See, there’s this film about robots--whoa, settle down Mikey. Don’t point that CGI-shooting laser gun at me. It’s rude. And shiny. As I was saying, these robots, they look like you or me, but cooler. Much, much cooler. Ukranian cowboy cooler. 

So the film is Westworld and it was directed, well, kind of poorly, by the very smart Michael Crichton. The idea is brilliant: in the future, amusement parks take fantasy to a new level by creating historical settings with human-looking androids catering to your every whim. You know, DIsneyland with a Mickey Mouse that actually talks rather than flailing his arms around like an overgrown stuffed animal. Oh. And you can have sex with them. Maybe not Mickey, although perhaps you can arrange some sort of porn tie-in. That’s your business and probably a very lucrative one at that.

Anyway, the movie has great elements but needs a redo. Instead of one lonely (albeit awesome) gunslinger chase, give us an all-out war between pampered park guests and terminator-infused cowboys, gladiators, and medieval knights. Cloning Yul Brynner would be ideal and it’s not like budgeting is an issue. Since the androids are supposed to look like humans, it’s not like you have to throw money away on special effects and believe it or not, it is possible to NOT blow up stuff in this one, as Romans and Greeks were not especially known for explosions. Should you want to pop in a few gunpowdery puffs in Westworld, I certainly can't stop you. But my robot can if you remake the wrong film. Stick to what's flawed. 

Thoughts, my friends? Movies that just didn’t deliver what you wanted/expected/demanded from that special place you call Imagination? And how likely is it that I’ll be reposting a followup expressing disappointment in the salvation of androids?