Thursday, May 9, 2013

I Kind of Hate You, Ti West.

Ti West is currently seen as a wunderkind of horror and frankly, I don't see it. 

What the fuck is it about literal grindhouse throwbacks that drive people nuts?  I mean, Kill Bill was awesome but, come on.  There was at least PART of Kill Bill that wasn't taking itself seriously.  Which brings us to today's review of The House of the Devil.

The movie starts with Samantha, a college student in need of some cash, who answers an ad for a babysitting job.  She gets a runaround for a bit from the mysterious dude who's hiring her but eventually they nail down that the job is not for a child but for Mr. Ullman's (that's the mysterious old dude) mother.  It pays $400 in 1980s money.  Because the movie takes place in the 80s.  With feathered hair and girls in baseball jerseys and yellow title fonts and Walkmans.

Nothing comes between her and her Calvins.

Samantha's friend Megan is wigged by the whole thing and leaves because old dude creeped her out.  She stops to get a cigarette lit and is promptly shot in the face by the dude that popped out of fucking nowhere and gave her a light.  And that is a waste of a damn good 1980s vintage cigarette.

Don't get used to her.

So, in standard Scooby-fucking-Doo fashion, Samantha goes snooping around the damn house and finds what looks like evidence that Ullman killed the previous owner and stole his car.  She calls 911 on an actual corded phone that is actually attached to the wall but calms down when the pizza dude arrives.  Because pizza.

Uh-oh, though.  Pizza's been drugged.  This was a set-up!  A conspiracy of the highest order.  Turns out Samantha was meant to be a lunar eclipse human sacrifice.  Well, damn.  And she just got the new apartment and everything.  Kiss grad school goodbye.

They seemed like such a nice couple...

So, yeah, obviously she wakes up in the middle of the thing and has to slaughter her way out.  Ullman chases her out of the house and tries to reason with her saying she's been chosen.  Because that's supposed to make her feel better.  And, seriously?  She was chosen by this guy.


Way to make a girl feel special, assholes.

So, yeah.  I watched this feeling like I was being raped in the eyes by a hipster.  But not a cute hipster, should such a thing exist.  The kind that actually thinks skinny jeans and thick-framed glasses look good on them.  The kind of asshole who wears a Keffiyeh scarf but doesn't know what it means.  The kind of dickwad that hates everything you like, snags all of the stuff that fits you off the rack at the thrift store, drinks PBR because they're poor and it's cool, and declares that giving up red meat and whining about it justifies their pseudo-counter-culture snobbery.

One more time, I dig an 80s horror flick as much as anyone else but I think Mr. West tried too hard and took himself WAY too seriously.  Vintage is one thing but damn.  The kids that would watch this have no idea what a rotary phone is. 

As for plot, it's too fucking simplistic.  A five-year-old could come up with something more interesting.  Of course, Samantha would be rescued by Dora the Explorer riding a unicorn/dragon hybrid and they would ride off over a rainbow to the land of gummie bears or something but, hey.  Whattayagonnado?

Hands off, beyotch.

I will say that the acting isn't bad and it's good to see that Mary Woronov (Eating Raoul) is alive and kicking but, all-in-all, I really did hate this movie.

Stop giving Ti West money, kids.  He's just spending it on PBR.  Seriously, look what he blew $5000 on for The ABCs of Death.

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