Feature 39 – See No Evil 2 (2014)

or “Raising Kane”

Featuring: Glenn “See No Evil” Jacobs , Danielle “Halloween 4” Harris , Katharine “Ginger Snaps” Isabelle

Directors: Jen & Sylvia “American Mary” Soska

Writers: Nathan “Lockdown” Brookes , Bobby Lee “Lockdown” Darby

Origin: USA

Sequel to: See No Evil (duh)

Review_____

“Baby? Please get off the dead guy. I mean it.”

Oh look, 8 years after their maiden voyage WWE Films is still insistent upon making movies. And after sequelizing their generic action series The Marine 3 times too many, they finally got back around to that See No Evil 2 I’ve been writing half-hearted fan emails to them about this since 2006. Neither director Greg Dark nor writer Dan Madigan were allowed back to continue their tale though, as WWE instead opted to give the writer’s pen/keyboard over to a new pair (whose only other viable credit is another upcoming WWE Films release) filling the director’s chair with indie horror darlings “The Soska Sisters” (Jen and Sylvia). Their feature debut American Mary has been the subject of much praise around the underworld water cooler in recent years. Despite my feral lust for Katharine Isabelle, I have not seen said movie yet, much to the chagrin of my gore whore lady friends. But I promise it’s on my “to do” list…with about 70 or 80 other “must see” recommendations. A term that NBC made completely invalid with their Thursday night lineups over the last decade.

Last time on “The Tomb of Anubis”, we met big, filthy, sweaty, no doubt stanky (thank Osiris that Smell-O-Vision never caught on), The Hills Have Eyes reject (and possible bassist from a ’70s funk ensemble with a name like this) Jacob Goodnight. Which those who didn’t watch the closing credits never would’ve realized, because the sole utterance of his moniker within the movie proper was cut out by an editor who probably spent most of their childhood eating lead paint chips while standing in front of an active microwave directly under high tension wires!

Goodnight was (and still is) played by WWE professional wrestler Kane, as he was also credited previously. This time he’s not just “Kane” though, he’s Glenn “Kane” Jacobs. This break in kayfabe (wrestling industry term for the false reality in which their characters and stories exist) is probably due to some kinda snag, likely with the Screen Actors Guild. So, a “SAG snag”, if you please. Or if you don’t please. We are Siamese either way, chunder thunder. Anyway, in our previous “getting to know you” installment, we learned that Jake had a Norman Bates-ian upbringing at the hands of his tyrannical matriarch, who kept her baby boy locked in a cage and frequently abused him as punishment for having perfectly natural teenage hormonal urges. Almost as bad as the time my own mother got drunk at a party and outed me to a group of strangers over my masturbatory practices to the Marvel Comics Swimsuit Special. Forensics are still uncovering victims (or at least parts of them) to this day.

As with any movie slasher, Mr. Goodnight was disposed of by his would-be victims, and suffered one of the funniest ends in the history of the pantheon of lowest-common-denominator cinematic slaughterers. Though one of the most repugnant slasher film protagonists walked away from the ordeal in one piece (said piece being very much shit-shaped, as the guy was the epitome of asshole chowder), overall I thought the movie did its job better than most of its ilk and deserved a sequel. Well, here we are, 80% of a decade after-the-fact, and check out the latest aphoristic black cat to cross my metaphorical path under the proverbial ladder: See No Evil 2. Was it worth the wait? Find out now as we continue the surprising adventures of ME, Sir Digby Chicken Caesar!

Sorry, a recent friend of mine (was she?) turned me onto “Peep Show”, which led me to a Hulu marathoning of “That Mitchell and Webb Look” from which my brain refuses to rewire.

Hennimooooooooooooooooooooooooooooore!

Following his head holing at the finale of the prior feature, Jake Goodnight’s been recovered by paramedics and rushed to the hospital in a desperate attempt to save yet another life not worth saving. He saves the taxpayers a bunch of loose change by flatlining on the way, and he’s instead dropped off at the loading entrance for the morgue. So already we’re starting off in that awkward spot as the audience where we know there was an 8 year gap between the movies, but we’re supposed to accept that the events of both are happening one after the other. Oh well. Still not nearly as awkward as those movies where scenes are shot out-of-sequence and over the span of several years, so characters’ facial features inexplicably do the time warp back and forth for the length of the run time…I’m looking at you, Equinox.

Working in the morgue are the “requisite cute girl that you know was an emo/goth kid in high school” Amy (Danielle Harris), her “opposite gender co-worker who’s in love with the protagonist but can’t bring it upon themselves to ask so-and-so on a date” Seth, and their “guy in a wheelchair who you just know is gonna end up being a Franklin Hardesty homage” boss Holden. Uggh. “Holden”. That’s the kind of name you give your character/child when you want people to cheer their graphic murder at the business end of something from the Black Friday Sale at Home Depot. “Holden”. It would be beholden of you to give yourself a real name, you fucking toerag!

It’s the night before Amy’s birthday, so she’s got plans to go out and party it up with her buddies at a bar. Adult birthdays really are shit, aren’t they? No bigger deal than any other Friday night, except for some party favors and another excuse to get blackout drunk because it’s a “special occasion”. Knobs. Amy has to cancel her plans though, because Jake and his 9 victims (sounds like a kids’ story about a serial killer) kinda take priority. Enter Seth and Holden (ARGH!), who call her friends and invite them to bring their party to the her!…in the basement full of dangerous chemicals and corpses. Okay. Probably the worst idea you’ve okay-ed since whatever it was that crippled your legs, Holden. The birthday girl’s big brother Will (Greyson Holt) comes along for the festivities and to play actual Big Brother (the police state, not the tv show) by supplementing Seth’s own self-cockblockery. Billy takes him aside and tells him not to get too attached to little sis, because she’s too good for him and doesn’t deserve to be stuck in a dead end (pun intended) job poking necrophiles’ dream dates for the rest of her life. In the words of the doctor who gave me my last physical, “What a dick!”.

Amidst the socializing and festivities, Amy’s freako fetishist friend Tamara (Katherine Isabelle) sneaks off with her hipster boy toy Carter (Lee Majdoub) to do some exploring. They’re the type of horror flick couple to which the term “exploring” implies “going in search of new locales and/or surfaces to do sex on”. Tamara’s squishy over the news that the body of the latest flavor-of-the-month serial killer happens to be in that very morgue and, being the sex maniac of the movie, seeks out the big galoot, as she’s very warm for his very cold form. Well, that explains Amy’s earlier comment about how she’s living TamTam’s “dream job”! The girl rubs her leather skirted, thigh-high socked self over Goodnight like a second coat of paint, until Carter gets grossed out enough to stop her and bang her himself. Note: if your partner spends their time eye-fucking a dead body while you’re inside them, it’s not a good sign. Then again, there shouldn’t be a dead body in the same room that you’re committing the meat market mambo in to begin with, so I guess you’ve got worse things to worry about than what name your hump buddy’s gonna mistakenly call you upon climax anyway. Carry on.

Through some manner of coital necromancy that’s hereto unexplained for the entirety of our tale, the slapping of the duo’s greased genitalia awakens our antagonist like the ancient utterances of some sort of sexy witch doctor. Maybe J’s got that Voorhees premarital sex murder slasher aura? Maybe it’s to such a degree that, when he’s in close enough proximity to people doin’ the ol’ pump ‘n grunt, even Death cannot stay his blood soaked hand from enforcing the only truly 100% effective form of birth control! Whatever the source of his resurrection, it’s apparently given Goodnight super speed too, because me manages to get off his examination table and slip out of sight during a brief moment that Tammy looks away from his body.

Given that his hook chain is no doubt sitting in an evidence locker elsewhere in the city, Goodnight has to make due with a veritable armory’s worth of bladed and/or gougey medical instruments. But first, he fashions a shiny new surgical grade hook chain. Because how else is he supposed to drag victims down a hallway in that “elevated horror of slowly being pulled to your inescapable doom” that audiences eat up? He only uses it the one time though. I guess he doesn’t wanna get typecast as “that hook chain guy”. Nobody else at Local Slashers’ Union 187 would take him seriously! But, at the same time, Jake’s given up his whole eyeball-plucking angle! That was his whole gimmick! Taking out Goodnight’s ocular dismemberment is like someone making a Texas Chainsaw Massacre sequel where Leatherface doesn’t wear masks he made out of human flesh. Or, for wrestling fans, it’s like Kane giving up his masked, deranged, pyromaniacal burn victim persona and just putting on something from Men’s Wearhouse and walking around like some white collar shit heel! Which WWE totally did. They call him “Korporate Kane” and he looks…well… Remember how weird it was when the middle school gym teacher became the new high school principal and started combing his hair and shaving and wearing a suit? That.

Obviously wanting to be taken seriously amidst his peers in the slasher crowd, Jacob knows you need a signature look. Knowing this, Jake dons a black apron (very American Mary-ish… at least from the one poster I’ve seen) and one of those protective mask appliances for people who get their faces burned off in comical barbecuing mishaps or pissed off squirrel attacks. Properly geared, he marches on to maraud this new posse of gudgeons (thanks, thesaurus.com!) while he flashbacks to the previous movie AND the previous movie’s flashbacks (flashback within a flashback… flashbackception!). No worries though, kiddies: the Soskas don’t sacrifice half the runtime to recycled footage of the first movie. Did enough of you even see Silent Night, Deadly Night Part 2 for me to make a tribute joke here? I didn’t think so.

From here you can pretty much guess how the rest of the movie pans out. Dead person, running, screaming, dead person, dead person, running, screaming, hiding, running, dead person, screaming, dead person, running. That’s it. There’s an interesting little surprise about 15 minutes before the finish, albeit one that comes about through entirely illogical circumstances. But hey, it’s a slsher flick, not a Shyamalan movie! There’s also this lovely little gruesome scene at the end that gives me fuzzy memories of the Tall Man’s “death” in Phantasm II. However, the mandatory threequel threat ending comes off like the kid behind the counter at KFC sneezing into your bucket of Extra Crispy before handing it to you and telling you to have a nice day. And that’s the best way to sum this whole experience up.

Even keeping my hopes at a minimum, I was still disappointed. Now, when I say “minimum”, I don’t mean the bare minimum. I wasn’t going into SNE2 with the sense of “If it’s better than Rise of the Zombies, it’ll be worthwhile.” No, I came at it like you should any sequel: if it’s isn’t better or at the least on par with its predecessor, then you’ve wasted your time. I’m not a fan of having my time wasted. I may have such a surplus of free time that I could use it for toilet paper every time I shit and still be bored for the rest of my life, but that’s MY time to wipe MY ass with, not yours. See No Evil 2 just takes the opening sequence of Friday the 13th The Final Chapter, then stretches it out into an entire movie to save on the cost of shooting in two locations. Sure, it looks okay while it does it, but that only takes you so far. You could be the hottest piece of flesh on the planet, but if you don’t know how to work your partner’s pieces, you’re spending your nights alone. Which is a complete lie, as there are people out there shallow enough to get off having sex with someone just because they’re physically attractive, even if they just lay there like a corpse. Be careful they don’t get up and kill you after, though.

Speaking of looks, permit me to be shallow for a minute. Only for a few sentences, I promise. Danielle Harris looks fantastic. She’s actually old enough NOT to look like a little girl now, so I don’t need to feel deep shame and tormentous self-loathing while wanting to: take her out to a nice romantic dinner, where I ask her about her hopes and dreams before she sits on my face and calls me a pathetic, disgusting pervert who isn’t even worthy of being spit on by her. Shiiiiiit. Now I need to wash my robes before they stain. On the opposite end of the dirty old man spectrum: I was so sad to discover that Katharine Isabelle is not the same weirdly hot slice of life she was when last I looked upon her with glazed eyes and pitched tent. I’m no chauvinist, and it could very well be some poor makeup work on her here or that her character is intended to be portrayed as a disheveled drunk (which she is); but Miss Isabelle looks like she’s basically Lindsey Lohan-ed herself since I last saw her. Which was Freddy Vs. Jason. I realize she’s actually had steady work in those last 11 years, which is great for her because she definitely deserves it after her mini-breakout with Ginger Snaps, so maybe my shock is solely my fault for not keeping up with her as she aged like any human being. I’m not the boner-inducing spring chicken I once was myself, but I’ve got the benefit of a massive mandibular mane to cover up my personal passage down the chronal chasm. That said, I’d still give up both of my big toes to have been in Kane’s place while Miss Isabelle was rubbing herself all over his deceptively undeceased cadaver, if for no other reason than to have “Totally got groped on by Ginger” etched in gold upon the door of my crypt after I depart. She could have half her faced burned by acid and the other half chewed off by wolverines, but she’ll always be Ginger to me.

And so it goes. A sequel I’ve spent 1/3 of my life waiting on finally lands in my lap. Not as the most enchanting stripper you’ve ever seen, but as the gangrenous, shit encrusted, vomiting homeless person that even the C.H.U.D.s want nothing to do with!

Alright, I admit that was excessive hyperbole for the sake of churning the cookies of as many of you as possible before ending this episode. Now, before those technicolor yawn bombs go active, I bid you all adieu!

Moral of the Story: Anyone who starts a statement with “I don’t wanna sound like a jerk here, but…” is about to say the jerk-offiest thing they could possibly say at that moment. My suggested response to whatever it may be: “I don’t wanna sound like Albert Einstein here, but I’m about to split your lip atoms.”

Screenshots_____

Not a title card, but an endorsement that you should see No Evil 2: Evilectric Boogaloo.


Their names are Isaac and Fig.


“We’re such a cute couple. Too bad one or both of us will probably not have a functioning circulatory system by the end of the night.”


That moment you realize the only reason a hot girl’s been flirting with you for the last few hours is because she thinks you’re Seth Rogen.


The sad sad image of a middle-aged man on the phone with Hot Topic customer service because the lip ring he ordered doesn’t make him look as young as he’d hoped.


Holden REALLY wishing he still had physical sensation from the waist down… and remembering that his name is “Holden”.


“Trent, I really liked it better when I thought you were just another hipster dressing like a Turkish refugee, not an actual Turkish refugee hipster. Your balls smell like Tabbouleh and Patchouli. It’s gross.”


The awkward moment at a party when you look into a girl’s eyes and see so much crazy behind them that you fear you may not make it home tonight with your genitals intact.


Good thing I’ve already got hairy palms and limited vision, or this screenshot could cause me a lot of problems…


Cue the cries of “ZOINKS!”, turn on the Monkees music, and prepare for the chase scene through a hallway of doors that inexplicably warp space behind them in 3, 2, 1…


Sorry to be the one to break this to ya, Jake, but you’re gonna need more than a Sammy Davis Special for that!


Looks like somebody bought out everything at Dr. Giggles’ yard sale.


Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the worst lit hospital since Halloween II.


It’s no hockey mask, but… well… as I just said, it’s no hockey mask!

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Anubis will return next time in
“You’reWelcomeMurder”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

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Feature 38 – See No Evil (2006)

or “The Grand Kill-the-Rest Hotel”

Featuring: Glenn “WWE’s Kane” Jacobs , Christina “Welcome to the Dollhouse” Vidal , Steven “Salem’s Lot (2004)” Vidler

Director: Gregory “Dead Man Walking (no, not that one)” Dark

Writer: Dan “SmackDown!” Madigan

Origin: USA

Sequel: See No Evil 2

Review_____

“I’ll let you smell my fingers later.”

I was watching Dollman the other day for the first time in what had to have been at least a decade. You know who plays the villain in that movie? Jackie Earle Haley. Yep. Fucking Rorschache. Also known as the unfunny, sinister retard version of Freddy Krueger from the Nightmare on Elm Street reboot I skidmarked all over a few months ago on this very site. And thus, I have scrounged up a tiny thread of reasoning for including this completely random information in this review! Progress! You know what’s NOT progress? Candy Corn Skittles. Uggh. Quick marketing research survey: would a better name for those little abominations be “Shittles” or “Skattles”? Please leave your answer in the comments section located at the bottom of this review. You will not be compensated for your time.

What was I doing again? Oh yeah, the review. Every once in a while a movie comes along that surprises the crap out of you with just how unassuming, yet spleen jarringly awesome it turns out to be! See No Evil is not one of these, but let’s just say that lowered expectations make for a much smoother ride down the bumpy back roads of writing opinion pieces on bad movies.

The time was 2006: World Wrestling Entertainment (formerly the WWF for those of you who missed out on the whole World Wildlife Fund lawsuit many, many moons ago) had decided to get into making their own movies. With former company carrying beefcake charisma machine Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson making a sizable name for himself as the new go-to “action hunk with perfect teeth” for Hollywood, WWE head honcho Vince McMahon decided it was time to take preventive measures, lest any more of his potential bank makers jumped ship for the high glamour, big pay-off, easy living life of the Tinsel Town set. Wanting to get as much company exposure as possible without risking the loss of his contractual work horses, Vinnie Mac started a movie production division of World Wrestling Entertainment that would solely feature WWE contracted performers in the top billing. Not only was the hope to get the logo out there into the mainstream again (something the company’s been struggling to do since the booming days of “Austin 3:16”), but to possibly placate the locker room prima donnas’ egos. Or just drive their so-called “good names” deep into the Hollywood sewage so as to make them box office poison, killing their sad little dreams of starring in summer blockbusters. Either way, WWE Films is still manufacturing crap like a Play-Doh Fun Factory full of feces these many years later. But today we harken back to its original dipping of toes into the modestly budgeted movie hot tub. Embracing the “horror movies can be made for cheap and are guaranteed to turn a profit” commandment of the movie industry, it’s a simple little slasher called See No Evil. Not to be confused with the 1971 movie where a blind Mia Farrow is stalked by a maniac, though they do share both the visual impairment and deranged murderer themes.

Instead of going with a big name wrestler who already had some mainstream exposure (say “Stone Cold” Steve Austin or Paul “Triple H” Levesque who had slightly-more-than-minor roles in Adam Sandler’s The Longest Yard remake and Wesley Snipes threequel Blade: Trinity respectively), the WWE decided to play it safe and push ahead with a lesser known (by the mainstream) performer by the name of Glenn Jacobs. The staunchly libertarian Jacobs is better known by most as his in-ring alter ego “Kane”. For the uninitiated, Special K’s origin goes a little something like this: he’s a former full-body burn victim (amazing the advancements medical science has made with skin-grafting over the last 20 years) and the not-so-little brother to fellow WWE horror show phenom character The Undertaker; who himself played the role of an intergalactic bounty hunter with the voice of a small child in the Hulk Hogan vehicle Suburban Commando. I will never get the sound of “You’re a dead man Ramsey!” out of my brain for the extent of my deitic existence… Anyway, Kane came to the then-WWF to take revenge on his older brother, who he blamed for the fire that both scarred him for life and took the lives of their parents. As “South Park” so succinctly put it years ago (long after my Evil Dead Bride had been saying the same forever), this is the male soap opera.

Jacobs aside, the rest of the movie’s players aren’t household names, but neither are they unknowns fresh off of squeegeeing the casting couch. No, this cast is pretty much made up of “Hey, wasn’t she in the Freaky Friday remake?”, “Wasn’t he that guy in Stella Got Her Groove Back?” and “Is she Jesse Ventura’s daughter?!” types. By the way, for those keeping score at home, the answers to the previous queries are “yes”, “yes”, and “no”.

So, we’ve got a gang of never-weres headed by a guy who throws around half-naked men for a living. Not exactly a good start on the road to financial success for the hitchhiking WWE Films’ first feature. Will they have better luck using their thumb to flag down a ride to success? Well, when your other thumb consists of a writer whose sole experience is penning stories for televised professional wrestling programs and a director whose resume lays in the realms of music videos and spank-your-crank skinema (including such wank classics as Between the Cheeks , The Devil In Miss Jones 3 and a personal favorite from my barely pubescent days: Deep Inside Vanessa Del Rio), you’re setting yourself up for critical and box office suicide. Or maybe not.

Yes, it’s taken me an inordinate amount of time and space to get to the actual movie itself, but now let’s shed the formalities, do like they do on Mud Wrestling Night at Big Earl’s Drunk Hole, and get straight to the down ‘n’ dirty! One sunny afternoon, a pair of cops investigating a house upon reports from neighbors of screaming heard inside, discover a borderline Texas Chainsaw residence. If Leatherface had become a Born Again and gotten his interior decorating certification through ICS’s “At Home” program, this place would’ve been his first paying job. Thank you, Sally Struthers!

Inside the disturbing domicile, the fuzz find a young woman whose peepers have been jeepered right outta their head holes. One of the blue boys gets his face suddenly bisected via ax courtesy of a hulking, inbred looking sort of man, while his partner (Steven Vidler, who resembles the poor man’s Aaron Eckhart in this scene) is relegated to a life of having no need for left handed gloves. Despite losing a good 35% of his other arm though, the pig keeps his cool and pops a cap through the creep’s eyeball with his good arm, sending the mongoloid packing. Impressive. He must’ve studied at the same sharpshooter program Laurie Strode did that allowed her similar perfectly placed shots on both of her big bro’s visual receptors at the end of Halloween II. Our hero (who we come to know as Sgt. Frank Williams) manages to call in the emergency and keep from bleeding to death long enough for help to arrive…several hours later apparently, given that it’s well into the night by the time he and the man mountain’s victim are carried away from the scene.

Said man mountain is Jacob Goodnight (Glenn Jacobs), a name that’s never uttered in the movie, because some dipshit edited out the scene where Williams tell us this necessary tidbit! Like most movie slashers built like brick shithouses, Jake had a rough childhood. As if having a name that sounds like it belongs to an Amish vampire hunter weren’t bad enough, his crazy conservative religious fanatic of a mother had a thing for punishing his young male masturbatory efforts by locking him up in an animal cage, beating him repeatedly, and constantly demeaning him in an effort to make him a good little Christian soldier for the Falwell militia. Momma Goodnight was the type of matriarch that makes Norma Bates a strong contender for Mother of the Year… well, a strong contender for one of those “Best Mom Ever” coffee mugs… well, one of those “Not the Worst Mom Ever” shot glasses… maybe.

There was a heavy emphasis on the visually alluring form that Satan’s influence likes to take (in other words, “attractive women are evil!”) coupled with the message that the eyes themselves are the ground zero for sinful acts (I guess?), hence why Jake grew up to be a demented serial killer whose calling card was leaving his victims sans soul windows. Also, being forced to listen to “Jesus Loves the Little Children” on an infinite loop would turn anyone into a serial killer. Naturally, following his run-in with Sgt. Williams, Goodnight’s body was never found. Somewhere out there is a demented goliath with a bullet in his head and revenge in his belly, so you can bet a new bevy of blinded victims will be littering some poor community sooner or later. In fact…

“4 Years Later…” Sgt. Frank has been reduced to a plastic handed corrections officer, babysitting society’s teenage no-goodniks at the local juvenile confinement facility. Insert the generic hip-hop “heartbeat of the mean streets” music here. One such group has been deemed worthy of a shaving of their juvie sentences by a month if they do a weekend of community service under the supervision of our handicapable hero. In this case, the youngsters are tasked with cleaning up the burned out remnants of a luxurious old hotel so the local Historical Society can turn it into a homeless shelter. Juvenile delinquents are nothing if not an exploitable source of free labor! And because nothing promotes good behavior between young hoodlum males exploding with angst and hormones like grouping them into a social engineering sleepover with some equally non-law abiding female ne’er-do-wells, let’s make it a co-ed outing! Besides, sausage parties aren’t good for a slasher movie’s bottom line. There needs to at least be the potential for 24 year old boobs pretending to be 17 year old boobs to be shown on screen to keep the horn dogs wagging their tails.

If you’re still not 100% sure of the types of teen fodder we’re looking at here, think of one of those movies where the hard life city kids turn their lives around thanks to a loveable yet bumbling, camp counselor/youth league football couch who never gives up them. Only the Jim Varney/Rob Schneider/Cuba Gooding Jr. character’s replaced with a reject from The Hills Have Eyes. In other words, we’ve got your standard Rainbow Coalition of shoplifters, purse snatchers, pot heads, car thieves, wearers of miss-matched socks, “political activists”, and kids who stabbed their stepfathers to death after years of bad touches. They’re cookie cutter in the litany of slasher movie stereotype fodder. You’ve seen their types a million times, and nobody’s even bothering to try giving these characters depth anymore because we all know they have no real value beyond being turned into hamburger through graphic forms of violence. Speaking of cliches, to further the movie stereotype of people in charge making nothing but bad decisions, one of the boys named Mike (Luke Pegler), happens to be the racist, violent, drug dealing, ex-domestic abuser/pimp of one of the girls: Kira (Samantha Noble). I see no risk of conflict here. Smooth sailing for days… until that big inbred iceberg inevitably sinks this Titanic-in-the-making.

Meanwhile, Frank shows us he’s not a huge dick about protocol when he flirts it up with the girls’ handler (who may or may not be engaged) and lets the young ladies suck on stolen cancer sticks when they’re on break without doing the skeez thing and trying to make them tug on his Slim Jim for the privilege. SNAP INTO IT! To try and shoehorn another dimension into this deli-sliced thin tale, while everybody else is trying to hook up and avoid/engage in other uncomfortable social interactions, two of the boys go in search of a safe packed with money lost somewhere in the burnt out structure. The story goes that the safe is the legacy of the hotel’s creator and previous owner, Mr. Blackwell, who left it behind upon his death in the 1971 fire that claimed the building. Blackwell was said to be an eccentric Howard Hughes type to boot, so naturally the hotel is rumored to be littered with secret passageways and two- way mirrors and all that haunted funhouse bullshit. Perfect place for a homicidal maniac that was supposedly killed 4 years prior to hang his hat, right? And by “hat”, I mean the severed heads of his victims, whose eyes he removes to turn them into an affordable way of dodging the potential embarrassment of ordering a Fleshlight™ from Amazon…

Oh yeah. I took it there, Pvt Pyle. Now wipe that stupid grin off your face, stop sucking on that garden hose, and sound off like you’ve got a pair!

After our 30 minutes of mandatory “meet the victims” establishing scenes, the slaughterhouse goes live and the bodies begin to pile. From here on out it’s pretty standard murder music: the monstrous amateur eye surgeon plies his hobby on the sinners, adding a good half-dozen notches to the handle of his meathook. Well, more like five and a half notches, since he can only get an assist credit on one gal. A pack of stray dogs did the bulk of the work on her. And since the only cell phone in the place was stolen by one of the last two people to find out there’s a bloodthirsty colossus on the loose, nobody can call the proper authorities to rescue their asses. No one is safe from Jake’s wrath, as young and old alike are taken out with lumpy’s meathook-on-a-chain (that’s pushed as his signature kill utensil) and numerous painful looking eye gouges/pluckings. Makes me wonder if writer Dan Madigan didn’t take at least one happy memory away from his assumed viewing of Gigli.

Back to the cell phone thing for a side note, it’s too bad Jake-Off couldn’t have gotten a job as a theater usher. Given what he does to said victim with her phone, I’d love to see him enforcing the “please turn off your cell” suggestion before the features play. It’s one request that SHOULD be turned into a law punishable by a cruel and unusual death sentence!

Margaret, the elderly lady who organized this whole clean-up project, eventually reveals herself to be Jake’s mom (one of those spoilers that’s barely a spoiler because it’s practically rubbing against your face the entire time), and she’s really got her granny panties full of fiberglass over the way her baby boy has kept Kira as a pet (due to his reverence for her big dumb Christianity themed back tats). To teach her goon spawn a lesson, Marge threatens to pop the gal with Williams’ recovered revolver. After 30 or so years of being cockblocked by Momma, though, Jake’s ready to throw off the shackles keeping his testicles cobalt tinted, and impales the old broad’s face on a spike! Good thing he never actually gets his dick wet though, because according to director Dark, Vince McMahon (who was an executive producer) reportedly wanted the towering meathead to be swinging one disturbingly huge tailsplitter (a full yard long, to be exact!) between his grimy thighs. I’ll let that horse cock sized image of depravity spit-roast your psyche for a money shot moment. Move on to the next paragraph once the little red light *dings* and your mind has been properly fried.

Oddly enough, Mike, the least redeeming of the cast of miscreants is the hero of the ordeal, as the racist, drug dealing, white trash pimp returns to save Kira and her girlfriend Christine (Christina Vidal) from the lumpy lumbering lout. Jake is beaten with a lead pipe like Mikey Myers getting wailed on by Paul Rudd at the end of Halloween 6 until the brute’s sent careening out of a 7th story window to his comical and ironical demise. Think Homer Simpson falling down Springfield Gorge, only with a length of plumbing in his face. And when he hits the bottom? A mangy stray dog uses his eye socket as a puppy urinal. It’s pretty much the highest high note you could hope for a movie like this to end on. Fuck, it’s a better ending than any of those big budget studio slasher re-hashers ever gave us!

See No Evil tries to be at least a little creative, even if just in regards to its antagonist. For instance, ever wonder how those celluloid slashers seem to have no problem finding their victims, even in a big place like, say, a 12-story hotel? In this case, Lumpy McEye-stab has tied lengths of wire to various items throughout the hotel (things dirty sinners would use, like beds) that all connect back to an old-fashioned service bell set-up. As such, every time someone sets off one of these bells, it’s labeled for whichever part of the hotel the victim-to-be is in. Hey, it’s pretty friggin’ clever in lieu of a Sliver Special (i.e. security cameras) if you ask me, so this works as a big pointy check mark in the “Positives” column. Hell, it’s a similar tact that was used by Re-Jason in the Friday the 13th remake 3 years later to help him patrol his Crystal Lake stomping grounds, so somebody else obviously agreed with me.

The gore is graphic, squishy, and passable for the most part, with many of the killings inducing the occasional cringe or wince of pity pain from yours truly. The final resting place for the cell phone is particularly satisfying. It’s painful, justified, left me with a warm glow in the pit of my torso, and put a soft smile across my chapped lips. Though this is a nice little change of pace from the plucking of peepers, there is a slight problem with the cell phone death scene, as it doesn’t involve the destruction of the victim’s oculars in any way. We already established that Jakey-Pooh’s got OCD for mutilating eyeballs, so why does he choose to break character for this one death? Could it be that he hates loud cell phone users enough to break his murderous mantra momentarily in the name of semi-ironic violent retribution, or am I just being a nitpicking shithead? To paraphrase an old adage: shitty is in the eye of the beholder.

Commenting on the caliber of acting in a slasher flick is like criticizing the thespians in a third grade Christmas play, so let’s just get to the man behind the camera. Though I can’t speak for Dark’s prior work, his aesthetics make it obvious that he came from music videos. Everything looks dirty and dreary and swimming in amber while the camera jumps around frantically and things tremor violently from time to time like the whole thing was filmed on top of a fault line for a Nine Inch Nails vid. Though many will thumb their big critical noses at this type of generic “frantic” movie making, I hold no such grudge. I wouldn’t call Darky or his final product “genius” in any definition of the word (especially since two of those definitions are for a Roman guardian spirit and a Muslim genie), but I do call it a half way entertaining way to butcher off a couple of hours from your day while waiting for something better to happen. All in all, there are a hundred-thousand worse ways I could think of to spend your time and money and a few hundred of them are sitting on the shelves of my DVD collection right now.

I took 8 years for a See No Evil sequel to happen (review incoming… like, next episode… HINT HINT), and that’s not really a surprise, given how pretty much no one saw/remembers the original. SNE managed to double its budget at the box office though, so even without setting the target audience on fire, it was a success for WWE Films’ maiden voyage. Glenn Jacobs didn’t become the next Dwayne Johnson (or even Kane Hodder), nor did Dark become the next David Fincher, but I stand firm (well, firm enough) behind my belief that See No Evil deserves better than to be lost in the bowels of slasher obscurity the way it has been. It’s a simple-yet-solid stab at an original “slash & scare” that deserves a rental/download by any appreciator of brutal bloodletting bad men the likes of Misters Myers and Voorhees.

One last happy thing to say about Glenn: before he became Kane, he had a far more hilarious other-self by the name of Isaac Yankem D.D.S. whose whole gimmick was that of a large and menacing dentist with a taste for pain and inflicting the kind of dental work that would make Dr. Alan Feinstone (a.k.a. The Dentist) take notes. Check out the following video for a taste of what Dr. Yankenstein had in store for his opponents, then come back here next time for some more visually challenged antics in The Tomb of Anubis! Keep fucking that chicken, kids!

Moral of the Story: Mommas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys, chipmunks or eye-gouging serial killers.

Screenshots_____

Lionsgate and WWE Films? The hallmarks of quality. Truly a match made in Hell… not to be confused with the main event of Summerslam 1991… wrestling nerd humor.


Thank you, Thing. You’re always there when we need a hand. *rimshot*


Photo taken during JCPenney Portrait Studio’s 2003 Labor Day Sale. They were such a cute couple.


Production still from the new prequel movie, Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Pups. [Disclaimer: in no way associated with Quentin Tarantino].


Are you sure TL Hopper wasn’t supposed to play the villain of this movie?… more wrestling nerd humor.


AH! HE’S A VAMPIRE! HE’S ONE OF THOSE DREAMY VAMPIRES!


For those who want to ride the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, but can’t afford a day at Disney’s California Adventure, just head down to Big Zeke’s Discount Amusements in downtown Stockton! Get the real deal feel of what it’s like to be trapped in a falling elevator as Big Zeke himself gives you the (possibly final) thrill ride of your life! Cash only.


Actress Rachel Taylor proves, with this single screenshot, that she has all the range of higher paid “actress” Megan Fox. Possibly more. Probably more.


Do all women shower like this? I mean, do they only buy shower curtains so they have something to hide the unsightly soap scum when company comes over?!


On the back of Samantha Noble’s 8×10 headshots, it says “For when you can’t afford to pay Hillary Swank to do a nude scene”.


“I know having a giant meat hook stabbed into my trapezius should hurt like hell, but DAMN is it loosening up some deep stress tension! Don’t stop!”


“Nothing personal, kids. But, as a white man in a uniform, I’m afraid I have to place you under arrest for suspicion of having brown skin. I will also have to assault and possibly shoot you a few times whether you resist or not. Sorry, but it’s protocol.”


In that brief moment, Craig T. Nelson regretted every fishing trip he’d taken in his life… which was flashing before his eyes.


The truth behind what really happened to Katie Vick… sorry, last wrestling nerd humor. I promise.


I know this looks bad, but clearly he’s just helping adjust her jaw due to an obvious case of TMJ Syndrome.


Teenage Vinnie Jones’ mom tries to get him to eat some traditionally horrifying British cuisine. No doubt while saying something about not having pudding if he won’t eat his meat.


Not all that shocking, really. My grandma has to pull her piece anytime some jag-off cuts in front of her at the pharmacy.


What Republicans think Obamacare does to your grandma when she turns 70.


Okay, I know you want your shot to count, and I know you didn’t take lessons at the Laurie Strode Sharpshooting School, but I don’t think you need to get that close to somebody to score a headshot.


Kids? This is why, when your parent/teacher/doctor/dominatrix tells you “don’t pick at it”, you DON’T FUCKING PICK AT IT!

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Anubis will return next time in
“Raising Kane”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

Feature 30 – A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)

or “Pizza Puss Reborn”

Featuring: Rooney “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” Mara , Kyle “Red State” Gallner , Katie “Black Christmas” Cassidy , and Jakie Earl “Watchmen” Haley as Freddy

Director: Samuel “Yet another fucking music video director who some a-hole thought would be perfect to make a horror movie…” Bayer

Writers: Wesley “Cape Fear” Strick , Eric “Final Destination 5” Heisserer

Origin: USA

Review_____

“All I wanna do is go to sleep”

Welcome to TheTombOfAnubis.com’s dirty thirty, as the subsequent ruination of the slasher icons of yesteryear marches on with “Shake, Bake, & Remake” episode 2! Down a few dozen Trucker’s Choice, follow it up with a quadruple espresso & Red Bull chaser, get rockin’ with Dokken, and do your best not to fall asleep during the leading cause of narcolepsy in horror fans over the age of 12: A Nightmare on Elm Street. I can’t even fake an exclamation point to end that sentence. *YAWN*

I originally considered making this entire review nothing but 5 paragraphs of “FART FART FART FART”. Then I thought of just posting a 10 hour YouTube video of flatulence sounds (which you can still see here if you feel so inclined). But in the end, I decided that either option would’ve been a disservice to you, my few and faithful fans who come here looking for a few laughs born from my diseased sense of humor. Those other ideas would’ve come off as too much like some sort of Warholian “Family Guy” gag, and as someone who hasn’t laughed at an “FG” episode since 2009 (and who would rather curb stomp Andy Warhol after stuffing a soup can into his mouth), that’s not the kind of comparison I’m interested in having drawn about my stupid little movie reviews. So here we go, on with the show. Hitting new lows in remakes that blow. Blart!

I did NO research on A Nightmare on Elm Street before it came time to watch it. Sometimes I like to keep my first time with a movie pure, free of expectation and void of bias. I boot up the movie, my attention at a laser focus…then I see the Platinum Dunes logo. Fuck. Violating my eyes with that is tantamount to sitting down to an internet video that your friends insist that you need to see but refuse to tell you anything about, only to recoil in horror when you open your eyes to see Two Girls, One Cup 2: Regurgitation Poopaloo or an undercover investigative vid taken inside of a factory that skins live puppies to make cock socks for those “Duck Dynasty” guys. Yep, Michael Bay’s festering figurative molestation fingers have dipped their filthy feelers into the orifice of another unwilling member of the “Big Four” slasher franchises, and all we can do is stand by and watch it happen. It’s the Indiana Jones episode of “South Park” all over again…

Unlike Friday the 13th the year before it, Nightmare doesn’t attempt to be so ambitious as to shoehorn four movies’ worth of material into a single remake. No, Freddy Krueger’s “Behind the Music” tale is complicated enough to stand as a feature on its own. Speaking of, if you’ve seen the original A Nightmare on Elm Street, you’ve already seen all you need to see here, because this reboot is nothing if not loyal to its source. So much so, you’d swear that the writers were just lazy pricks getting paid to sit around and practice throwing Funyuns into each others’ open mouths while watching reruns of “Card Sharks” and taking hits off of their Freddy Krueger bong.

FKBong

The funny thing about that? I made the joke before I knew the bong itself was something that existed. Not really that impressive though, since you could go a search for pretty much anything and tack “bong” onto the end of it and find pics of just such an item. Ah, the magic of stoners on the internet.

For those who don’t know the story (why the fuck are you on this website again?), Freddy Krueger was this skeezy guy who had a thing for children whose parents should have told them at a young age to NEVER BE ALONE WITH CREEPS LIKE THIS GUY. In the original, Krueger was a school janitor in the sleepy (har har) little town of Springwood who was accused of butchering 20 children, but went free thanks to one of those legal technicalities so common in the cinematic justice system. Enraged by this massive judicial botch, the Springwood PTA (Parent-Tormenter Association) gathered to enact mob justice upon the monster by capturing him, burning him alive, then swearing to secrecy for their dark and vengeful deed. For movie reasons (that would attempt to be explained in the sequels), Freddy would return a decade later as a supernatural nightmare-dwelling murder phantom whose violent assaults on the his executioners’ children in their dreams somehow translated to their own gory mutilations in the real world. The same principals basically hold true here, with some exceptions. For starters, New Freddy (Jackie Earl Haley) was never a serial killing janitor. Instead, he was a mildly retarded gardener who lived in the basement of the local pre-school. What the fuck!? Why in the name of John Wayne Gacy would an elementary school in the late-’90s allow a mentally disturbed man to live in the basement of a childrens’ school!? It’s not an apartment building, where you expect a ghoulish, gin-soaked super to inhabit the tiny basement apartment next to the laundry room, it’s a PRE-SCHOOL! Rorschach on a fucking Rascal, what childcare institute throws all fear of rampant negligence lawsuits straight into an industrial furnace to go through with something like that!? It wasn’t the blissfully ignorant ’50s! This was the “everybody’s out to get your kids” ’90s! Oy. Platinum Dunes might wanna get a hold of their own janitor, cuz their toilet’s backed up so bad the turd water is getting on everything.

Rascal

As previously mentioned, New Freddy isn’t a murderer. In the original series, it was only vaguely hinted at that Krueger may have done more to those kids than simply kill them. Dark things better left to After School Specials and those “very important” episodes of ’80s sitcoms that the networks recommended parents watch with their children to better explain why they should never go to the bicycle shop without an adult. Said vague hinting becomes the basis for the horrors New Freddy’s accused of, when the children Freddy played with so frequently WITHOUT any kind of administrative supervision start showing signs of abuse. Rather than go to the police, the parents went lynch mob (led by Clancy Brown, who was both The Kurgan AND Mister Krabs) and chased the simpering mental defectoid to an abandoned generic industrial building, where Neo Krueg followed in his predecessor’s loafers and was burned alive. From then on, everybody swore to the story that Freddy simply “left town”, and no one would mention anything about the flambeed retard or his hideous presumed atrocities to each other or the children ever again.

Then next 10 years are a bit sketchy (remember, Funyuns, “Card Sharks”, and bong hits – oh my!), but the important things to point out are that Freddy’s Kids (there’s a charity we can only hope never gains any traction) are now all in high school, most of them still live in Springwood, not ONE of them remembers anything about being accosted by Krueger green thumbs (because the writers think that repressed memories happen to EVERY victim of childhood trauma), and they’ve all started having horrible nightmares of being pursued by a certain shadowy figure wearing a striped sweater, a fedora (fucking hipster), and a glove that looks like it came straight out of Gen-An Shiranui‘s garage sale. Now, when dreamscape Krueger actually starts killing off these pesky teens, I will admit that the first death gave me hope for what the rest of the movie could have had in store. Dean (Kellan Lutz), the victim in question, meets with his girlfriend Kris (Katie Cassidy) in a diner to explain the horrific night terrors he’s been experiencing, only to fall asleep and, you guessed it, “get got”.

BUT, to make things interesting, Dean doesn’t just become suspiciously mutilated in front of the late shift crowd. Freddy manipulates the guy’s physical form to look as if he cuts his own throat while in the throes of a complete mental breakdown. Later on, just as Freddy Classic did in the original, he kills Kris while asleep in her bed (by throwing her around the room in a fashion I’ll piss acid all over later) as her ex-boyfriend/refugee from a Fallout Boy slash fic forum Jesse (Thomas Dekker… no relation to tToA.com’s “Harbinger of Pure Awesome” from 1986-1987 Fred Dekker) watches helplessly and subsequently ends up in jail accused of her murder. Quick side note, the incompetent Deputy Dogs of the local constabulary fail to read Jesse his Miranda Rights when they apprehend him. Guess that explains that whole “legal technicality” that freed Freddy the First from that child mass murdering wrap! Way to go Springwood PD, where the “PD” stands for “Pathetic Dipshits”.

Anyway, New Freddy setting up all his victims’ deaths to look like suicides and murders? Interesting. I mean, Freddy’s a phantasmal entity who exists solely on the astral plane – two things that mean the American justice system can’t do shit to stop him, so it’s not like he’s framing everyone to cover his ass. Besides, what happens to Jesse while in lockup breaks the laws of physics, so trying to pass it off as just another death ain’t happening…unless he or his cellmate figured out a way to make his chest explode without the help of a few ounces of C4. No, Fredrick’s motivation is to torment his prey so that their waking hours are almost as agonizing as their sleeping ones. You know, like Michael Bay’s doing right now with Transformers: Age of ExSTINKtion. If North Korea’s willing to declare war on the US for that Rogen-Franco movie, we’re gonna be a nuclear holocaust from sea to glowing sea once AoE is let out into the global market. Ragnarok? You’re part of the problem. Stop it. There are plenty of ways to indulge your masochistic tendencies that don’t include giving Michael Bay your money to add into his Platinum Dunes “ruin every piece of ’80s nostalgia in history” world domination plot, because when they inevitably profane Labyrinth, our wives are gonna kill us – yours for your direct contribution and mine for not lobotomizing you when I had the chance.

Though I haven’t even gotten around to mentioning her yet, the heroine of the movie is art class waitress (copyrighting that bad name after I type this) Nancy (Rooney Mara) with her admirer/Jesse’s co-worker from Hot Topic, Quentin (Kyle Gallner), tagging along so she has someone to do the Stay Awake Buddy System with. As always, the adults refuse to believe their twenty-something teens, there’s an uncomfortable amount of teen boys in little Speedos (seriously, teenage boys in tiny swimsuits haven’t gotten this much screen time since Swimfan!), accusations fly and mysteries are mysteried (was Freddy molesting the kids, or is he back to avenge his unwarranted murder?), skeletons line dance out of their closets (presumably to join the Pride parade), and Fred gets dragged into the material world (which makes as little sense now as it did 25 years earlier) where our protagonists try to kill him “for reals” before the lack of sleep puts them both into comas. Which is one of the few ideas this movie comes up with that I can actually take away as a positive. And yes, I just spoiled a LOT of the movie without warning, but given how much it apes the original (which comes WELL within my five year moratorium decree), there’s not a lot to actually spoil. Besides, the whole thing sucks baseballs through a garden hose, so who the hell cares? Answer: no one.

So much suck. Oh the sucks that are sucked here. If it isn’t the shitty “music video” direction, it’s the twists that “shock” the audience about as much as the Michelin Man is a lightning storm…which is to say not at all. If it’s not Freddy’s face looking like he’s Mortal Kombat‘s Reptile after a particularly harsh shedding, it’s how the striped sweater was just something he happened to be wearing when he was killed…and the fedora’s no more significant than our antagonist going for that “post-life hipster” look. What a douche. If it isn’t the nameless music video schlub they’ve got helming the damn thing (the fucking opening credits look like somebody turned the cover to Korn’s “Follow the Leader” into a live-action short), it’s the patience pureeing confusion of how a mentally handicapped gardener somehow turned into a non-handicapped, sadistic psychopath with magic dream spook powers after his Human Torch cosplay went awry. If it’s not the writers’/director’s lazy-ass lack of creativity when it comes to doing something mind-blowing (or even attention grabbing) with the virtual godhood that comes with having a dream world and a Hollywood digital effects budget to back it up, it’s the huge letdown we get when they DO do something! Example: the “dragged around the bedroom” death of Kris where these “creative minds” opt for simply throwing the actress around the set with their computers rather than mustering an ounce of either inspiration or perspiration like the original’s classic “rotating room” shoot! Pop quiz time – when they do recreate the original movie’s “Freddy’s ghostly face and claws press through a wall like it was made of latex” sequence, does it look like:

[A] computer graphics artists at the top of their craft, proving that their years in college were not the massive financial waste that their parents warned them it would be!
[B] a timeless moment that forever put to rest the question of whether glossy modern remakes of older movies can be better than the originals, with a resounding and irrefutable “YES!”.
[C] the glorious stuff that the stars themselves are made of!
[D] pure horse shit.

If you guessed anything other than “D”, I sentence you to summer school. And no, NOT the good one taught by the old guy from “NCIS” where they hang out at the beach and watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as an educational film on power tool safety.

Even the poster is generic! Look at the bottom of this page. Look at that lazy image. The original’s poster art is ICONIC! Even if you’re like me and not the biggest of Freddy fanboys, you still own or want to own a copy of that poster! That Matthew Joseph Peak masterwork is to this new lazy Photoshopped junk as a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label is to a Pepsi bottle full of stagnant drunkard piss left behind a radiator all winter.

The biggest disappointment though (don’t get me wrong, the aforementioned are ALL big, inflamed, swollen-with-spider-eggs disappointments too) was how Jackie Earle Haley, who was one of the only reasons to watch Watchmen (ironic), just doesn’t make a good Freddy! I know, I know, the whole “This isn’t Robert Englund Freddy, because only Robert Englund can be Robert Englund Freddy, so this had to be a new, darker, more sadistic feeling, more monstrous Jackie Earle Haley Freddy” argument has merit, but if you’re not gonna “Do the Kru”, then don’t make an Elm Street remake! If he’s not going to have sadistic supervillain-y fun torturing his victims with perverse incarnations of their worse fears given form, if he’s not going to treat the suffering of others with cackling delight, if he’s not going to pull some twisted shit out of his bag of tricks to keep the special effects guys on their toes and give them night terrors of their own for years to come, he’s not Freddy Krueger! What’s the fucking point of having a monster who can bend reality to his will (and giving him the cgi ability to back it up) if all he’s going to do is stab people?! You might as well give a Green Lantern ring to a friggin’ Mennonite!

Now, if I hate EVERYTHING so damn much (as I do with all of life itself), why not kick this dissenter against my personal preferences down into the pit of eternal torment and leave it with the dreaded bowel movement rating it seems to deserve? Feel free to wade back through the effluvial grime of the prior paragraphs, stick your hands into the muck, feel around a bit and see if you can recover the brief moments of interest otherwise swept away in the rip current of revulsion. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna order a meatball sub and kill a few hours on State of Decay before I decide whether or not I’m doing anything special for you folks for the 4th of July. Will He? Won’t He? Tune in Friday and find out, salad shooters!

Moral of the Story: If you want to cure the mentally retarded, just burn them alive! They’ll come back as perfectly non-retarded ghosts! They’ll probably also be pretty pissed off about the whole being murdered thing though, so try and plan accordingly in case of a homicidal thirst for revenge.

Bonus Moral: If you ask someone if they’ve been lying to you, and their reply is “I don’t think so…”, the last thing AND next thing they tell you are both LIES. Additionally, even if you lie to someone “for their own good”, YOU’RE STILL LYING TO THEM!

Screenshots_____

At least it’s better than his birth name, Heywood Jablowmi.


This week, on a very special episode of “Kitchen Nightmares“… or is it “Hell’s Kitchen“? Meh. Either or.


“You have a part in your next family movie that would be perfect for me? It’s about a strong, independent, free thinking female lead? Sounds good so far! And she… suffers a horribly traumatic rape… and was sexually assaulted by her school bus driver as a child… and this is a family movie?! Jeez… alright, fine. I’ll do it. *sigh*”


Her agent just informed her that her contract with Platinum Dunes calls for a three picture deal.


Wow, they have some vicious moths in their attic!


You probably expect me to make a menstruation joke for this screen, but you know what? I’m not going to. Can’t keep fishing that pond. Gonna let it restock.


This scene shot in “Peeper Cam”. Also known as “Exhibit A”.


He dropped the soap in the shower and not one inmate tried to violate him. It’s really hurting his self-esteem. Poor guy.


I can’t look at this without hearing Spongebob singing, “The best time to wear a striped sweater, is aaaaaaaall the tiiiiiiiime”.


I’ve heard plenty of women accuse their ovaries of trying to jump out of their bodies and kill them, but this is the first time I’ve actually seen it!


I wish I could like this moment, but all it does is remind that I could be watching Crank: High Voltage right now instead.


Leaked footage from the cancelled instructional DVD, Coaching Champions the Sandusky Way. My skin just crawled off of my body and jumped into a tub of scalding hot water while typing that. Uggh.


“Need help buttering your toast? Maybe a whole loaf?! I’m your man!”

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Anubis will return next time in
“Dog Will Hunt(ing)”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

Feature 29 – Friday the 13th (2009)

or “Mommy’s Little Monster”

Featuring: Jared “Supernatural” Padalecki , Danielle “Piranha 3DD” Panabaker , Amanda “The Mentalist” Righetti , with Derek Mears as Jason

Director: Marcus “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)” Nispel

Writers: Damian “Freddy vs. Jason” Shannon , Mark “Freddy vs. Jason” Swift , Mark “The Messengers” Wheaton

Origin: USA

Review_____

“You’re fucking lucky there, Stretch. Came that close to hitting the ‘start’ button on the whoop-ass machine, boy!”

Writer’s Note: Yet again I’m a minor hinder (i.e. a little behind) with this episode. I was hoping to have it plastered on the page come Friday the 13th for obvious reasons, but failed to match my deadline after the 2 week stumble marathon that was my prior production. Also, I received my order of powdered rhino horn from that mysterious Chinese sorcerer who contacted me through the page’s feedback function, so I was UP ALL WEEKEND with my editor/wife. Ohhhhh yeeeeaaaah, macho man!

Editor’s Note: None of that last part happened. He paid $200 for a cheap plastic elephant bottle filled with Country Time Lemonade drink-mix powder.

Writer’s Note: Damn it…

This is the first of a four part series I’m calling “Shake, Bake, & Remake”, focusing on remakes (duh) of otherwise infamous flicks that I can’t actually review here in the New Tomb, thanks to my self-imposed “Current Millennium Movies Only” edict. I’m not saying I’ve got it as hard as those religious kooks who put themselves through self-flagellation to prove their piousness, but I’m not not saying I’ve got it that hard either… and yes, I just said “I’ve got it that hard” ladies, in case you’re feeling frisky.

There have been a LOT of these remakes in the last 15 or so years, so it was only a matter of time before I could stop ignoring the epidemic and had to spread awareness though my only available portal to the masses. “The more you know” and all that. Anyway, it seems that every 365 days the Hollywood Xerox machine is sputtering out new half-assed paper jam abortions to try and cash-in on recycled ideas, much to the chagrin of long time movie lovers. The kingpin of this human centipede-inal process of turning food into shit into somebody else’s food is Michael Bay. He’s not just a boogeyman that creative thinkers use to scare their children into brushing their teeth and washing their ears before bed, lest he steal their imagination, either. Depending on who you ask, Bay’s career is either one big punchline (with an explosion at the end) or a new holocaust that will be marked as one of the darkest times in human history. I personally would like him to hang himself with his own intestines, but I write the same thing whenever I get one of those damn customer service surveys on my receipts. That’s just the kinda Death God I am.

In honor of the holiday (What? I always take Friday the 13th off from work. You don’t?!), I’m kicking things off with a figurative kick in the balls: 2009’s Friday the 13th. Now, since it’s officially hit its 5 year expiration date, this movie’s now ripe for spoilage. If you haven’t already seen it, and you’re expecting anything beyond “a guy in a hockey mask kills a bunch of horny teens”, you may want to close this window now and go on with your blissful ignorance until you can see it for yourself. For those of you who have seen it, or could care less about watching paper-thin plots put through the proverbial shredder, I’ll do what I can to make your stay a pleasant one. Now, onward to violence!

Not a true remake of the original (because 95% of casual slasher movie fans don’t even know who the fuck Pamela Voorhees is), this F13 takes the broad-minded clusterfuck approach of jamming an un-lubed speculum into a 106 minute running time and trying to stuff four movies worth of dongs into it. Sure, most people would say, “Dude, they’re just slasher movies. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all, so what’s the big deal of cutting four down into one?”. Jane, you ignorant slut. You know not of the things you speak, so I’ll forgive your lack of awareness long enough to let you get out the front door and leave this place, never to return again. Seriously though, you’d be surprised how much more there is to the story of Jason Voorhees than “kills naked thirty-somethings pretending to be teenage camp counselors”. But, I’d probably have better luck trying to teach a cat how to evolve into a squid. Either you get it or you don’t. I’d rather eat razor blades than watch Twilight, so different strokes get off different folks…unless you get off to “Diff’rent Strokes”, in which case there’s help for your sickness – at the bottom of a well. Go find it. Headfirst. The world thanks you.

The original movie gets put through the Cuisinart worst of the four originals, being hacked into little more than a black & white flashback played during the opening credits (yes, the opening credits) of Pam voiding her hat-of-the-month membership thanks to the final would-be victim of her Camp Crystal Lake murder revenge tour. The story’s still the same – she blames the counselors for the drowning death of her special needs son Jason, having been too preoccupied with cavorting of the pants-less kind to watch the little mutant while he was swimming. As any parent would like to do, Momma hacked ’em up like a butcher on bath salts. But, her death by self-defense decapitation was viewed by her still-living little boy. Taking up the very machete used for the aforementioned decap attack, Jason would go on a lifelong crusade of surviving on his own and serial killing anybody unfortunate enough to set foot on the campgrounds of Crystal Lake. The time it took you to read that is about 3 times longer than the movie actually spends setting things up.

There are a number of barbs this movie maliciously drops down the back of our pants, but there are two in particular that gave me the greatest trouble sitting down after experiencing them. I’m now going to address the first – of all the things the writers could’ve done to tweak the tale of Jason Voorhees, the one most in need of adjustment are his years between seeing his mother die and starting his successful career as a killer of the people that Mountain Dew and Miley Cyrus are marketed to. It never sat well with me that we were expected to believe that a deformed retard child not only survived his drowning (The police never recovered his body from the lake?! Are you fucking kidding me?!), and not only chose to live in the wilderness rather than seek help from anyone in the community, but he actually MANAGED to live off of small animals and berries and raccoon shit for two decades, then just happened to witness his mother’s death, which sent him a killing spree for the next 20 years?! All of this is stupid! So, perfect chance for the reboot writers to retcon it the fuck out and make something more sensible, right? Like, maybe Jason survived the swimming incident and Pam’s killing spree wasn’t due to his death, but still due to the negligence of the counselors? She obviously wasn’t the sanest kumquat on the fruit cart, right? So it would make sense, especially if she brought Jason along with her to witness how much she loves him by striking wrathful vengeance in his name. It would definitely go a long way in explaining his own use of violence in avenging her death for the rest of his life. As far as the whole “living off the land for twenty years licking moss” bullshit, just put him into foster care following mom’s rampage, have him murder his caretakers at some point in his teens, then let him make the trek back to Crystal Lake to set up shop and we’re on our way! But no, let’s not do that. Instead, these dipshit fuck bags decide to fart in the face of effort and just stick with the whole Mowgli thing – Jason’s raised by squirrels or some nonsense and he’s just there and he’s always been there and when everybody who goes out there is never heard from again NOBODY WILL NOTICE OR DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT! GRARRGHGRRRRRAAAAARRRRRRRRGH!

Pardon my embolism. Uggh. So, yeah. New Jason is an adult now who may or may not have his own marijuana crop out in the woods around Crystal Lake. He lives in the abandoned remains of the camp (abandoned following the mass murder incident), probably drinking his own urine or just coating his intestines with parasites from chugging the lake water. There’s probably a whole hive of squirmy things in his guts. He probably doesn’t even poop anymore because the colony of colon worms just eat all his feces for him then re-poop it back into his blood stream, gradually turning him into an unstoppable dung golem. Where was I? Oh yeah, Jason’s pot field. For something like 10 minutes we’re introduced to a small group of friends who have come to Crystal Lake to sleep (and pork) under the stars. Two of the guys (one of which is a poor man’s Seth Rogen that looks so much like Ragnarok from Cinemasochist Apocalypse that I had to rub my eyes in one of those slapstick comedy double takes to make sure I wasn’t imagining it) are secretly there to steal weed from this legendary crop the one guy’s dealer told him about, the third guy is there to snoop around the campgrounds with his “girl next door” lady love, and the remaining female is there to show off her nauseating botched ’80s boob job and have silhouette doggystyle with one of the weed guys in their tent. They’re solely here as Jason fodder, hence all the marijuana and sex and trespassing. Jason himself is wearing a sack on his head a la F13 2, but it looks more like a pillowcase wrapped around his face than the traditional potato sack. Back to the delinquents. Imperfect Ragnarok Clone gets hacked up, his New Wave Holdover pot hunting partner gets macheted in the face like Leonard Lies, Gross Tit Job gets torched alive in her sleeping bag, Unthreatening Trespasser Boyfriend gets dragged through a floor and presumably slaughtered off-screen, and Appropriate Acting Trespasser Girlfriend is presumed also macheted. Until later on, when it’s revealed that Jason just takes her captive because she looks kinda like this picture of his mom that he keeps in a locket.

Hey, I told you I was gonna be spoiling this nonsense like 6 month old milk! If you stuck around to drink it, you’ve only got yourself to blame, Jermaine. Hope you like sour and chunky, cuz I’ve got plenty more to pour down your gullet. NO WASTE!

After ALL of this, we finally get our title card, some 25 minutes in. Somebody cal Guinness, because that’s gotta be the longest pre-title prologue sequence ever witnessed. From here we fast forward to “6 Weeks Later”, where a second group of irresponsible twenty-somethings are also making an ill-advised trip to corpse country. Since this is supposed to be the part where the Friday the 13th Part 3-D “homage” initiates, this rainbow coalition (well, it’s 5 white people and their token black and Asian friends) is assembling at the family summer house of their leader Trent (Travis Van Winkle) who, if you couldn’t already tell by his name, is such a massive douche bag that he might as well be played a gallon milk jug filled with vinegar that has “Summer’s Eve” stamped on the side. The only real elements of note from this group are that goofy blond pretty boy slacker Nolan is played by Ryan Hansen of “Party Down” (a criminally under-appreciated comedy from Starz that NOBODY watched), and token black guy Lawrence (Arlen Escarpeta) who, despite the *wink*wink* moment of not wanting to be stereotyped as one of those black guys, doesn’t even come off as an n-word, he comes off like a whigger because he tries too damn hard to be one of said black guys! I’m pretty sure he graduated Valedictorian of the Black Acting School’s Class of 2008… Hollywood Shuffle? Nothing? Really!? Isis help me…

Transitioning into the Friday the 13th: the Final Chapter section of our movie, lone wolf heartthrob-on-a-motorcycle Clay Miller (Jared Padalecki) is also in the area, not just to play the forbidden love interest to our female lead – King Douche’s set-upon good girl girlfriend Jenna (Danielle Panabaker) – but to find his sister Whitney (Amanda Righetti), who went missing in the area 6 weeks earlier. Yep, Locket Girl. Speaking of, she’s spent the last month and a half captive in Jason’s underground cave lair (which is way more “influenced” by The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 than anything F13), and looks WAY too clean for someone shackled in her own filth for 40 days and nights. Here’s a sticking point that Michael Bay’s welcome to stick in his boom boom hole: despite Camp Crystal Lake being long abandoned, it’s still wired for electricity, which Jason turns on with one of those big mad scientist switches that just don’t carry the same panache without the “It’s alive! ALIVE!” schtick accompanying it.

Clay’s search for sis isn’t helped by the incompetent local podunk police force (an F13 series staple), especially Officer Brackle (Richard Burgi, who looks like the bastard spawn of Patrick Warburton and Huey Lewis) who recommends that Clay go looking elsewhere because Whitney and her friends probably just ran away somewhere else to disappear without a trace…having NO CONNECTION WHATSOEVER TO OTHER STORIES OF ERRANT CITIZENS THAT HAVE REMAINED UNSOLVED IN THE CRYSTAL LAKE AREA ALL THESE YEARS ……… and there goes another embolism. Though there’s no Crazy Ralph proper in this movie, there is an unnamed old demented lady (Roseanne Knower) who does the job, filling in Clay on the whole sordid history of Crystal Lake being a Bermuda Triangle for missing credit card applicably aged delinquents.

And beyond that? Not a whole lot to report. Jason kills everybody. In fact, he starts with a local yokel white trash stoner (who my Evil Dead Bride perfectly described as “exactly the kind of guy who would lick the pages in Hustler”) who I can’t help but feel is playing a part that was originally written for Jason “Jay of Jay & Silent Bob fame” Mewes. Whether you agree with me at first glimpse or not, once he starts sexually harassing a decrepit mannequin, I think you’ll come to my side of the opinion pond. Beyond licking porno mags (bet they taste salty) and groping inanimate objects, this guy’s reason for being isn’t just to be killed, but so Jason can find a certain iconic piece of sporting equipment in the dumbass’ smoke & stroke shack. Having taken up his sword (machete) and donned his magic helmet (hockey mask), the mighty masked mauler can go about his destined destruction of these purveyors of moderate debauchery. Using more skillful hunting techniques rather than simple smashery & slashery for the most part, the result is the same – everybody ceases to be and joins the choir invisible. I’m fine with that, except for Jason’s more agile feats, like climbing onto a roof with relative ease (ninja fart style: silent but deadly), then leaping down afterward to stab someone through the eye. I prefer my mute murdering juggernauts to be more the lumbering colossi type, but maybe I’m just old fashioned.

By the last reel, it all comes down to the final four: Jason, Clay, Jenna, and the recovered Whitney. In somewhat of a shock, Jenna ends up the victim of implement impalement while trying to escape Jason’s silly underground lair. Which he probably fixed up at the cost of *dramatic pause* one BILLLLLLLION dollars! Man, nothing says you’ve got your bloody talons on the pulse of humor like a 12 year old Austin Powers joke. Blart. The chase eventually ends with a chain around Jason’s neck and our mongoloid mangler being dragged headfirst into the business end of an industrial wood chipper (which I would’ve expected to immediately screech to a halt once the first few feet of chain got wrapped up inside the blades, but hey, movies and stuff) which shuts down after leaving the top of Jay’s dome looking like he just tried on a toupee made of piranhas. I could have done without the Velveeta that Whitney vomits on us in triumph over her captor (“Jason! Say hi to Mommy…IN HELL!”), but as far as endings go, I’ll allow it. No yellow card.

Sorry. The Tomb’s marketing department told me to try and pander to the World Cup crowd. I wouldn’t review Shaolin Soccer, so this was the best I could do to get them to stop poking me with their stupid marketing pitchforks…still don’t know how those slipped by me during the annual budget review…

Immediately following the figurative disposal of the villain is the literal disposal of the villain, and this is where the movie’s second GIANT ass barb falls squarely betwixt my seat cushions. Okay, if you were in Clay and/or Whitney’s shoes, and you’d just stopped a crazed serial killer in a mask who slaughtered a dozen or so people around you… What would you do? Yes, you’d call the police and have them rush out to you immediately while keeping a sentinel-like watch over said murderer’s body, probably while wielding a large, sharp, weaponized gardening tool. And if you’ve seen slasher movies at any time in your life, you’d go the extra mile and chop off his hands and feet, crush his head with a cinder block, and/or park a tractor on top of his corpse as added insurance. What do the siblings do? Dump his body into the lake. What do you think happens when the cops show up, find a whole bunch of bodies, and a brother and sister say “It wasn’t us! It was this big redneck in a hockey mask that we managed to kill in self-defense, then dumped his body in the lake! No, really, we dumped him in the lake! Why!? Uhm… hey, Clay? Why did we dispose of the biggest piece of evidence corroborating our story again? Shit. We’re going to prison, aren’t we?”. But no, none of that matters, because the whole lake dumping thing is done solely for the goofy last-minute movie jump scare attempt when Jason leaps out of the water to finish off our heroes before the end credits roll. This is what happens when you get a friggin’ music video director to helm your slasher flick.

I know movie criticism has a long history of people saying, “That sucked! I could’ve done a better job and I don’t even make movies!”, but in this case I have to agree. As of this review, I’m happy to report that we can at least find solace in knowing that none of F13‘s trio of writers has done anything of note in the half-decade since, possibly crushed by the torrent of hate mail from the Friday Faithful following this fart-in-the-wind remake. As for director Nispel, he seems to have ignored the bloody writing on his bathroom walls and chosen to soldier on with pissing off children of the ’80s, because his next credit was that Conan the Barbarian remake. As least the “slick kinetic Hollywood production” look fits something like a swords & sandals monster mash better than a slasher production, because aside from the hockey mask and all of the stuff lifted directly from the previous F13 installments, this is in no way a Friday the 13th movie. Just like other Michael Bay productions like Transformers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in no way represent their source material in any means other than the duplicitous “name only”. Jason looks like he’s been sticking to a strict routine on a BowFlex he found in one of the abandoned cabins, and has apparently mastered electrical engineering with one of those “earn your degree through the mail” programs. I blame the deaths of these people squarely on YOUR shoulder pads, quasi-celebrity Sally Struthers!

Final judgment time: Friday the 13th has some decent violence, but any idiot with a blunt instrument can commit violence. A butcher can turn meat into a meal with skill. An artist can turn violence into entertainment with creativity. In the hands of these people, it’s just “stab stab kill kill”. An uninteresting story with even less interesting characters. A lazy for-profit attempt on a storied slasher franchise (just go with it) disguised as an homage to a legend when it’s really just an excuse to reuse someone else’s leftovers and try to call it your own fine cuisine creation. I’d rather watch Jason Takes Manhattan for a weekend straight than bother with this “re-visioning” by people blinded with dollar signs made of diarrhea. When you try to legitimize an illegitimate genre like cheesy ’80s slashers, you miss the point entirely. They put so much effort into being tongue-in-cheek that the whole affair ends up being way too on-the-nose, which eventually turns it into some kind of awful tongue-in-nose thing that’s just nauseating. And that’s all the time I’m willing to put into this review. Join us next time to see who the next slasher icon is to be put through Tinseltown’s imperfect cloning machine in “Shake, Bake, & Remake Part 2”! But for now, as Uncle Gunter would say, “Leb wohl mein kleines Schnitzel-Abgründe!”

Moral of the Story: You know those parents of handicapped children who say that one day their special needs child could grow up to be the President of the USA or some other really huge achievement as such? Jason Voorhees just makes me want to go down to the Special Olympics and smother every last potential serial killer in the lot before they can come to maturity and take their hatred for the world out on me. I am the comic relief for any slasher movie, so there’s no way I make it long enough to hear the awful nu-metal shit they’re gonna shove into the end credits!

Screenshots_____

“Damn it Steve, if you forgot to pack the tweezers my brow line is going to look like a Pakistani during No Shave November! We have to go home and get them NOW!”


See what I mean?! Switch out the Star Wars shirt for something Godzilla and this guy’s the movie version of Brother Ragnarok!… and clicking that link will result in no support for my argument, because Raggy doesn’t have a pic of himself on his profile… blart.


Jason is terrifying enough on his own. These two just walked in on him jacking his jerky to bathing suit photos of his mom. They’re scarred for life. But, on the plus side, at least their lives won’t last much longer!


If you thought termites were hard to get rid of, once you’ve got a Voorhees in your floor boards you might as well just burn the place down and start over… on another continent.


“Excedrin Headache #13: the camping trip”


Wearing a pillow case on his head and standing next to a burning effigy?! I know he’s a vicious serial killer, but I never realized Jason was a white supremacist too! Things are gonna be very awkward with Candyman at this year’s MurderCon.


No, I haven’t. I don’t really like Whitney Cummings, and I’ve heard that show was unwatchable anyway. It was also canceled a year ago, so… no, poster, I haven’t seen ‘Whitney.


“Are you on drugs, young man? Because, to be honest, I want a new drug. One that won’t make me sick. One that won’t make me crash my car, or make me feel 3 feet thick.”


That moment you realize that the secret ingredient in your buddy’s “special brownies” wasn’t marijuana…


No, before you say anything, I didn’t boot up the Maniac remake by mistake. Believe me, I really wish that was the case, but no such luck.


The Invisible Man? The Mummy? Darkman?! Nobody knew who Jason was supposed to be at last year’s Halloween party, and every time someone asked he stabbed them in the eyes with candy corn!
FYI – he was dressed as Hush. JV’s a big Batman fan.


All she’s missing is a naked Richard Branson clutched on her back like a baby lemur.


Kids, never go drinking with William Tell. That guy doesn’t just carry a chip on his shoulder, he’s got the whole stack of Pringles. After a few Pink Squirrels it always comes back to that stupid apple and, well, this happens.


Michael Bay’s veiled threat to ruin the Puppet Master franchise next… oh wait, Charles Band’s been doing that since 1993. Never mind.


This is why you’re supposed to take your contacts out at night, folks. The warnings on the box are there for a reason!


“Hail Hydra.” (I’m not 3 months late, I’m just moving up the timetable for bringing it back.)


There you go, ladies. Don’t say I never gave you anything… well, other than the creeps… and hepatitis.

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Anubis will return next time in
“Pizza Puss Reborn”

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