Oh, I had them.
And then I was ever so cruelly reminded that I'm not allowed to have them.
Now, let me preface this by saying that I did not hate this movie. It's a good movie, for what it is, but, like Cooties, I found it somewhat lacking. Not overly so, but there are some pain points.
ANYwhosawhatsit, The Final Girls is a story of loss, hurt, wish fulfillment and the understanding that we can't always have what we want. I want good horror cinema but can I have it? NooooooOOOOOOOOoooooo.
Max, played by the ever-close-to-tears Taissa Farmiga, loses her actress mother Amanda (Malin Akerman) in a car accident and just can't fucking let go. I mean, yes, the death of a loved one is difficult to bear and it's very painful but after a while it's time to move on. Swanning about the moors hoping that everybody forgets the one thing that made your mom famous isn't healthy.
Fortunately for us, director Todd Strauss-Schulson is well aware of this and every other character in this movie makes painful, direct points to Max about how spending all of her damn time in mourning is keeping her from actually having a fucking life and, frankly, it's affecting their's, too.
|For fuck's sake, go to therapy.|
Aaaaaaaaand, they get sucked into the movie.
|Say what, now?|
AND CORN IS WHAT WE SHALL HAVE! By way of a director whose only idea of a horror movie trope is "If you have sex, you die". Yeah, there's a touch of "Dumb Blondes Die First", "Brunette Badass" and "Drugs and Alcohol are Gateway Deaths" and, of course, "The Final Girl" (which is a trope that's starting to wear thin since it's seriously limiting to diversity and creativity) but the big no-no is don't flash your sweater puppies. Don't show 'em, don't touch 'em, don't let anyone else touch 'em. Todd's message is "sex, eeeeeew" and for that I need to slap him with a confused lobster. No, I don't know why the lobster needs to be confused. It just sounded good.
I mean, they literally taped a girl's hands into oven mitts and slap a quilted vest on her to stop her from performing her scripted strip-tease until they'd laid out a trap.
Come on, man.
|This douche always needs a knee in the nads. I HATE this guy|
A small cookie.
Like one of those cookies that comes in those fucking 100-calorie packs.