Zombos Says: Poppycock!
Paul Holstenwall, our neighbor and purveyor extraordinaire of bad movies, had brought along That's a Wrap, which launched at FrightFest recently, to show Zombos and me. It had been a while since we were seated comfortably in the cinematorium to watch horror movies, and well, what the hell, I took a chance. Even knowing that Paul, who long-time readers of Zombos' Closet will recall has questionable taste (see one of Paul's misfires here), rarely brings the good stuff.
It had been a long while since I last reviewed a less than stellar endeavor and with IMDb giving this one a 6.7 rating, I felt somewhat safe. I wasn't. I also now know that IMDb ratings don't rate for much. I guess having an extended family, when you're in the business, can be a big help after all.
"So," asked Paul, "what did you think?" I looked at him. I looked at Zombos. Both stared at me, one beaming with delight, the other just beaming. Like death ray beaming to be precise. I lifted my Lychee French 75 that Chef Machiavelli had heavy-handed with the gin and gulped it down. I confess I held his hand while he poured the gin. I should have held it longer.
"Well," I said, then stared at my empty glass, "it's like this. The first minutes with Alexis (Cerina Vincent) being stood up by her date, and hanging around that dark, quiet studio where they shot the movie, then heading to the car to leave, then heading back to the dark, quiet–did I mention deserted and foreboding, you know?–and running into the first kill of the evening was promising. But it died out from there."
Paul frowned. Zombos just kept glaring. I had spoiled his evening. He really hates bad horror movies. Then he just stood up, said "poppycock!" rather loudly, and left.
"You know," I told Paul, "that actually sums it up pretty well. While the giallo lighting, the greens, blues, and violets, and threadbare plotting give it some polish, the overall premise of a fictional horror movie wrap party being really stalked by the fictional murdering character that dresses in a red trench coat and wears a long blond wig and a mask doesn't quite gel. For one thing the dialog is atrocious. You want to kill a movie, use dialog first. It was like first day at acting school improvisation. Secondly, the static camera kept too many face closeups, like they were ashamed of the sets for the movie, so tried to hide them as much as possible."
"But didn't you find the sets atmospheric? asked Paul.
"Atmosphere just doesn't come from the sets. It's what you do with them that adds up to atmosphere. I mean, the movie was studio bound–no pun intended–since they shot the fictional and real movie there, but just tossing in all those giallo colors didn't help to expand the rooms or provide any visual depth or interest. I know budget for independents is tight, but the camera shouldn't be. Add that clunky and uninteresting dialog between kill scenes and boy, the suspense and mystery never takes off."
"And another thing," I continued, "the acting was as leisurely delivered as the kills. And the kills were nasty. One reviewer said they were in poor taste. Now, I'm one who thinks killing should never be in good taste in a movie, that sends the wrong message. But the hair curler scene went on and on and lost any sense of shock or good sense."
"Didn't you like the Psycho tribute scene, though?" Paul tossed his drink back.
"That was a good scene. It was funny how they got her naked to wind up in the shower. I'll give you a few points for that. More of that cheeky direction and writing would have helped the movie. Another thing that would have helped is the direction and editing with more focus as to a goal. The interplay between the banal wrap party chat-fests and the stalking kills just doesn't mesh. You could probably take both all the scenes of the kills and separate them from all the other scenes and you'd have two movies going. You really should have only one. I liked the score, though. Klaus Pfreundner did a good job of taking what he got and adding some audio substance to it.
"You know, even the fictional movie's fictional director, Mason (Robert Donavan), gives a bit of class to the proceedings. His love for his own movie is a bit over the top, but at least he had an annoying persona just begging to get him knocked off. Finally, at some point, he and his neglected wife, Lily (Monique Parent), notice how everyone has drifted off from the main room. Her long diatribe at the end is mind-numbing, however. I'd want to knock her off too, and quickly."
"What about the twist at the end?" Paul was reaching for anything good at this point to salvage the evening.
"Yes! I loved it!" I admitted. "Came out of left field and was a beauty. If they had only added more of that sneak in the script. And don't forget the hands down best death scene involving a really badly timed masturbation. Now that was well done. Again, why wasn't there more of that snark through the movie?"
Chef Machiavelli came in to refresh our drinks. Paul took a swig and said "so playing it by the numbers, run it down."
"Okay." I took a swig too and thought for a few seconds. "First few minutes and first kill nicely paced and filmed. We watch a cheesy trailer of the movie within a movie, noting that Mason is in love with himself and dismisses his wife with his self-love. We wind up at the wrap party where we watch the cheesy trailer of the movie within a movie again, but it sets up a jump scare, so passable. Leisurely direction and acting in-between kills bogs down the whole thing and takes the fun and terror out of it."
I took another swig and continued.
"After mindless chit chat among the cast, who obviously are strangers but apparently completed the movie in spite of that, wander off to their individual doom buggies and die in operatic, barbaric, and sometimes funny ways. Returning to the mindless chit chat between kills is a buzzkill all by itself. Two gay guys become a thing–not sure why; a comic interlude with the photographer falls flat, as well as, now that I think of it, the cartoonish use of app-like word balloons that pop up as the wrap party starts, to introduce each future victim. Wait a minute…that was done in another horror movie a few years back…let me think of it…"
"You mean See No Evil, 2006," said Paul.
I had a new appreciation for Paul's horror knowledge. "Yes! That's the one. What's funny here is that Mason has them give up their cell phones so no spoilers can hit the Internet. But now it's apps everywhere, especially on screen. And, finally, the last act, where we find out who the killer is, who the final girl is, and that delicious twist ending. But only after a torturous monologue."
"That's a wrap, then? I see I will not change your mind." said Paul.
"Funny," I said and wondered where Zombos had wandered off to.