Stay Awake While I Talk About Stay Alive

You may or may not have noticed, but I kind of like horror movies. Of the staggering 4 reviews I've done, a mind-blowing 50% of them have been on horror films. That's like at least half of all the movies I've watched for this blog. Dafuq!?

You. Right now.

And if there's any type of horror movie that will draw me in like a celluloid siren (totally the name of my punk rock band) with it's mesmerising promises of audio-visual wonder, its the cheesily bad budget flick with a spectacularly over the top name and a usually too-good-to-be-true premise. That's why I've sat through such classic masterpieces as My Super Psycho Sweet 16 and the slightly more upper class Wrong Turn slasher movies. Although, that said, up until I just googled that link I didn't realise there were five of them... Someone's got their weekend entertainment lined up!

When I become a parent, these films will be my babysitters.

Oh yeah, um... Gore warning for this post in case some of you are squeamish. If you aren't but happen to recommend this to any friends who are, it might be a good idea to direct them to this helpful advice before they read any further. Say its just underneath the eyeball kebab.

So, any guesses as to what this review might be on, class? No, Timmy, it's not Beauty and the Beast. Or Brokeback Mountain. Or The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Timmy, have your parents taken the time to measure your Kinsey rating, or activate your Netflix's parental control settings for that matter? Anyone else got a suggestion?

"Shut the fuck up, Timmy."

Yup, it's a horror flick, this one to be precise. Stay Alive is my kind of movie. Horror, video gaming, low budget, an IMDb rating below 5 and a unique(ish) gimmick; in this case it is a mysterious video game that kills you if your character dies in-game, essentially like an interactive rip-off of The Ring.

To celebrate the occasion, lets shake things up a little. I'm straying from the usual style of reviewing through the process of screaming retrospectively at the computer until words come out in a random order and I shall instead attempt to write my critique on the fly as the film plays out so you may experience the full onslaught of my undiluted wrath. For you safety I suggest you change into clothing that does not contain nylon and ensure you have adequate birth control measures in place for your pets. When you are ready, we may begin.

This is not adequate birth control. However nor is it animal cruelty, and thus the world is balanced again.

Ok, got my cuppa and a Dip Dab. Lets do this shit. Opening credits, nothing special here apart from the tell-tale sign of a low-budget movie: the title of the movie is also the name of the production company. This is going to be good, I can feel it.

Holy shit, they really pulled out all the stops here, that CGI is just...ooft. Oh, wait, its meant to look crappy, its a video game! One which appears to have borrowed very heavily from the grandparents of survival horror: Resident Evil and Silent Hill. A big creaky mansion (former) and nothing but a torch to guide you (latter). This is actually slightly creepy, and despite the pasted textures the graphics are on par with what you'd get on a PS2 game, so not too bad. I'm going to assume this is the murderous game that we'll be seeing a lot of in the next 90 minutes, where you apparently die in the same way that your character dies in the game. At least it has the courtesy to make little polygonal versions of each of the main characters so we know which one is about to die horribly.

They should have made it GTA IV, I want to see what happens when you glitch to death.

Although on a game design stand point this thing must be boring as hell. There only seems to be one type of enemy in the whole game, a horde of expressionless zombie children who enjoy being shot at. The variety of enemies on show here makes Call of Duty look as accommodating as a gay pride rally on free anal lube day. You'd be lucky to actually hit any of the enemies anyway thanks to the lack of a crosshair and the slowest camera turning speed this side of a Katamari. It's almost like this game wasn't designed to be played, but to be watched... A scathing remark on the state of modern video games as they become too cinematic, maybe? 

These identical rotten children represent the collective imagination of the film's writers.

Was that a very poorly executed nod to The Shining pig mask scene I just saw there? You people are just trying to cram this thing with as many pop culture references as possible, aren't you? From Fatal Frame to Q*bert, there's even an entire scene based around a Silent Hill 4 reference; it's just too bad you evidently got mixed up with which game you were meant to be talking about, cause not one of the things you mention in this scene is possible in that game, but they totally are in the first one. Ten for effort, two for accuracy.

You are the Eddie the Eagle of the referencing world.

So the premise is set and that whiny guy from Heroes is killed off in one fell swoop; efficiently done, Stay Alive. Ah, here comes some plot development in the form of the token funeral where our protagonist will undoubtedly find out about the evil killer game from another guest who has a complete disregard for the feelings of those present. 

Wow. The sister of the recently deceased teenager has her priorities so skewed that she thought it necessary to bring her dead brother's video games to his funeral to give to his friend? It's good to see that this guy's closest friends and family have the integrity to bounce back from his sudden, violent death like a hunk of ripe halloumi, but it's a little insensitive to be sifting through his belongings the afternoon of his funeral. Who does that?! If I die I do not want my family and friends starting to sort through my DVD collection before I'm even in the ground!

"Stop the funeral! I forgot to take his watch!"

There's some really original characters being introduced here. We've got the hunky protagonist with tacked-on childhood trauma issues, the annoying best friend whom we'll enjoy watching get dismembered, that geeky guy (Malcolm in the Middle appears to be taking his place here) who will be the first to inform the other characters of why they keep on dying before promptly sacrificing himself for the good of the group, some other character who'll be the first to die because we have absolutely no emotional attachment to him, hot goth chick cannon fodder and the blonde girl who will almost definitely survive. And breathe!

Sadly those are the well developed characters in the bunch. We are also exposed to some truly memorable police work from the movie's resident investigating officer. You receive your first clue on a case from a witness who voluntarily gave you the information including an alibi verifiable by four other people and the first thing you choose to do is accuse him of committing the murder. Bravo. And you don't even have the courtesy to obstruct the view of the body from the general public. Or to get acting lessons. This guy waddles around the set like a large, brown, human-shaped seal and acts with about the same amount of enthusiasm as a old lady shopping for new compression stockings. Hell, she'd probably make a better cop than all of the guys in this movie combined; chubby's deputy is so eager to get killed by the game that he pretty much trips over himself to get to it.

"You. Throw yourself on the enemy until he tires out his stabbing hand. I'll be awkwardly shuffling round furniture."

Boring characters and bad acting aside, it looks like we're getting to some proper gore now. Sure, deaths one and two were pretty tame, a hanging and some very shiny garden shears to the neck respectively, but it looks like victim number three will be getting smooshed good and proper by the EVIL HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE OF DOOM! *spooky ghost noises*

The fuck? The camera just cut away, and now he's lying on the ground with what appears to be a small graze on his forehead. Where's the being run down by angry horses? Where's the horseshoe imprint on the face and body sliced in two by carriage wheels? This sucks...

And now you burn a NES controller for no reason, you blasphemers!

You're actively trying to make me hate you, aren't you?

I think I'm losing faith here. So all of a sudden the video game is actually the incarnation of the undead soul of some evil woman and blah blah something something there's been nowhere near enough focus on the game or on people dying horribly. Shut up with the crazy witch lady mumbo jumbo and get back to murdering, we're more than halfway through and only three people are dead.

My bad. This incidental shot of a sheet of paper says she's a vampire from Transylvania.  And you have to exorcise her.
Make your mind up on which monster you want to pretend a real life serial killer totally wasn't, for chrissake!

At least one character acknowledges the ridiculous concept of a murderous video game and attempts to debunk it for approximately eight seconds. Luckily goth chick jumps in to make a very convincing argument for the crazy murderous game camp by essentially spelling out the entirety of the completely inconsequential and horrifically inaccurate lore surrounding our main antagonist along with everything we already knew thanks to the posters and movie tagline. I missed most of it because I just got a Plants vs. Zombies update and now seemed like as good a time as any to check my Zen Garden.

Why would a person go outside to smoke and just casually wander into a construction site miles away from the house they were in? Is the whole street a no smoking area? Plus it is extremely irresponsible to light up in a place most likely packed with dust and flammable materials. You're just asking to be burnt to a crisp, goth girl. Nope, just a good old throat cutting? Fine then. Sigh.

The deaths here are approximately 80% more imaginative and entertaining.

No! You do not suddenly change your own rules during the finale, that completely destroys the point of the film. That is like a horror movie number one no-no! I'm afraid that is the final straw. Nope, there's no point trying to redeem yourself now, you've muffed it good and proper. I've had enough. My critique has become angry and disjointed and I don't know what to do any more. Cue conclusion.

The story is clichéd, the characters have been torn straight from a TV Tropes page (minus the crippling number of in-jokes), the script tries too hard to force pop culture references out like a constipated Tarantino and the special effects are appropriately video-gamey, even in the real world. This is exactly what I was expecting when I sat down but I'm still disappointed. Every time I watch one of these I really hope from the bottom of my heart that I'll be surprised and somehow, against all odds, the film will dazzle me with a rich story and conservative scares that are all but lost in the big-budget, gore-tastic, Hollywood-ized, hyphen-riddled affairs we're used to. Alas, I will continue my search with earnest, for there is no such film here. Stay Alive, go sit on the naughty step and think about what you've done.

Just shove Timmy's corpse over. Rigor mortis has stuck him like that.

Overall Ben Equivalence Rating

Making Your Own Halloween Costume at the Age of Seven -

There's always so much promise and enthusiasm, but you're inexperienced, can't make head nor tail of the source material and lack adequate resources for the job. Eventually it just ends up awkward and you're the laughing stock of everyone involved. 

Wait. It's actually more like my first sexual encounter...close enough.

So This Guy Walks into a Flat...

Good morrow, my little munchkins! This blog post is not late, I assure you; it just so happens that today is the day that I pretend to live in Amchitka. Not that it matters anyway, I had one blog view yesterday. ONE. All this hard work and look how you repay me! With not even existing. You people disgust me; apart from that one person. So (you people - 1) is more appropriate. Thanks maths.

Now I did tell you that I'd keep you up to date on the goings on of things that weren't me watching movies (which is still totally awesome, isn't it?) so I would like to introduce you to my new flat!

Furnished and everything.

That's a cupboard. Nice, isn't it? It's in my room. I think I'll probably store more stuff in it. This, incidentally, was probably the cleanest part of the flat when we first got to poke or heads in the door; the whole place was disgusting. I wish I could say I had taken before/after photographs but I was too busy vomiting into my hands because I didn't want to go near the toilet that smelled of rotten eggs to really make the most of the opportunity. To get the place up to liveable standards it took us a solid three days of cleaning, only stopping to eat, sleep and procrastinate. But at last its starting to look less like a trashed Young Ones set and more like home.

We're keeping the bike though.

I thought it might be nice for you to see a bit of a transition from 'bare, rented flat' to ' My Flat, God-sarnit!'. As such I'll give you a walk-through of the interior design choices of each room along with what I would rather turn it into over the course of a few posts to aid my laziness and lack of imagination. This is undoubtedly a good idea because, obviously along with all of my other talents, I also have as much interior design experience as James Cameron has modesty, so sit down, shut up and feel my knowledge penetrating your squidgy flesh.

This post is also available in my new book of erotic fiction: "Blog Me Harder"

Seeing as you're already in the sex dungeon bedroom cupboard (get the fuck out of there, it's kind of creepy) we might as well start with my room. 

Where I will sleep.

Next to where I will sleep.

Where I will sleep when I should be working.

 I decided in a fit of peak over a gin and tonic one evening that due to my rather bold purchase of grey Tesco bed linen my bedroom shall be adopting an equally dreary industrial/geometric theme. In that vein I bought the lovely, cheerful print of a man with an umbrella seen next to the desk there to go above the bed. There is only one small problem with this design choice.

The walls are yellow. Not a nice pale "oo, isn't that refreshing, darling" kind of yellow, more a "you should probably go get that checked out" kind of yellow.

"Yup...Definitely cancer."

I'm not an expert on this but industrial usually means like grey and stuff, yeah? Big sharp corners and billowing smoke. Pipes and origami unicorns. Yellow means what? Custard? Sand dunes? Radiation? Hey, radiation! That could totally work! An industrial theme with a radioactive slant; I could get a cushion for the bed and everything.

Etsy, you're always there for me when I need you most.

Now we're getting somewhere. So what else do I need? More stuff for the walls, methinks. Oo, how about a big black and white canvas print of something movie-ey but still with that mechanical feel? Like that scene from Alien. Or the opening shot from Blade Runner. Or I guess I could just get a picture of Pripyat.

Makes for a good talking point at parties.

So radioactive cushions and a ghost town, this is really shaping up to be a room that gives of some chilled vibes, dude. More practically I've been looking for a good ol' fashioned cork pin-board, for pinning things to things, and a clock. For...clocking things? Then all that's left is all my usual shit from home: clothes, computer, books, crossbow. Essentials.

The only thing I have no idea what to do with is the shelf above the wardrobe. The attentive few of you may have spotted it in the picture above and I'm completely at odds as to what it could be used for. The boring choice would be a lamp. I refuse to be boring! This room needs a mascot, something that fits in with the theme, but is also close to my heart. Something that will watch over my domain while I'm at uni learning how to kill people and get paid for it. Something completely and utterly fucking awesome.

"£528? You take payments in human blood, right?"

But It Could Be...

A Torture Chamber!

What else could this room be? Sickly, tortuous wallpaper. A nice big storage cupboard for the bulkier equipment. It's perfect. All you'd need to do is replace the bed with an operating table, or failing that, a large sacrificial altar (Home Bargains has an offer on for them at the moment: Buy one altar, get a free virgin) and a cheap set of gardening equipment and you're ready and rearing to go! Anatomy dissection, eat your heart out.

Human heart cooking methods can be found in my new cookery book: "Cannibalism and You: The Joys of Cooking and Devouring Your Loved Ones"

My Post with Marilyn

Eddie Redmayne, you are the luckiest bastard in the world.

If you don't know who our good friend Eddie is, you may remember him as Lispy McLisperton in the recent big budget adaptation of Les Grumpy French Musicians. Good movie. Might do it at a later date.

"Tho long ath you don't poke any more thun at my thpeech impedimenth."

But I do digreth- I mean digress. Why is Mr. Redmayne so lucky? Because he has the wonderful honour of being the humble love interest of both Emma Watson (that would be Hermione Granger, you heathens) and Michelle Williams, who plays our titular leading lady in My Week with Marilyn, 2011's biopic of the fabulous Marilyn Monroe. You probably haven't heard of her, she isn't well known.

"I gave prepubescent males erections before it was cool."

The sad truth is that the majority of people will have passed over this little gem. It's a BBC Film, which means it's influence will not have extended far from our cold, frothy shores and, although they have come out with some wonderful films in the past, they still bear the stigma of being a TV company funding movies. And that's how stuff like Komodo gets made.

When it comes to biopics I get a little picky. I'm a big fan of overly dramatic Oscar bait, however I can't abide those dreary musician biopics with the plot of guy gets famous, guy ends up on drugs, guy loses everything/commits suicide (apart from a select few with a little more thought to them) or, heaven forbid, the far worse sports alternative. Moneyball was terrible. It wasn't even an underdog story; they had to force the "oh god, we're not going to make it" moment when the opposition gained a couple of points against their already crushing lead. It was like watching a formula one driver stop three feet from the finish line and start shitting himself because he only lapped the next driver six times.

Although it could be because I understand baseball about as well as anyone understands Guyball.

However, I digress once again. Based on the books (a novel way of gathering inspiration) The Prince, the Showgirl and Me and My Week with Marilyn, Marilyn, as it shall now be called for the sake of the word count I've just increased by explaining the reason for calling the movie Marilyn, tells the story of Colin Clark, the author of said books. The film follows his relationship with Marilyn Monroe during the shooting of Laurence Olivier's The Prince and the Showgirl where he acted as her personal escort around London for, oh, I think about six or seven days. Ish. But here's the important bit: it's really good! Hurrah for another movie I like!

Right, on to the reviewing. Some of the main criticisms of this film centre on the rather unusual spacing of characters on screen and the slow, overly romanticised script which swings from light-hearted comedy to retrospectively foreboding tragedy, stating that these aspects create a disjointed, confusing experience. I disagree wholeheartedly. Although it could be seen as the work of an inexperienced director and an incompetent writer trying to cram as many Monroe moments into one plot as possible, I think far more thought has been put into what may initially seem a very bland affair.

Much like the humble digestive biscuit. Seen here sporting a very fashionable, yet traditional, chocolate glaze.

Yes, to a keen eye the characters seem to be performing on an almost two-dimensional plane, and the script does indeed read at times like a piece of wonderfully flamboyant amateur theatre. But, in the context, this works to the movie's advantage. I'm a film buff, however I am also notorious for getting a little swept up in the moment, often disregarding subtle cinematographic effects, but even I became aware of the rather unusual positioning in the film. Although, contrary to many other critiques, I do not think this was unintentional.

Much in a similar vein to the more stage-oriented theatrics of yesteryear that this film is set amongst and, more abstractly, to the flamboyantly melodramatic life that was that of Marilyn Monroe, I like to think that the director's intent was to draw attention to the question that is often asked when inspecting the life of this woman: At what point did the Marilyn on stage stop and the Marilyn off stage begin?

"Duuuuuude..."

It may be water that has been tread so often it's turned into jelly (that's how jellyfish are born, children. Because science!) but it is an interesting question none-the-less, and one that is addressed very well in this film if my theory is to be believed. The flat spacing of the characters lends an uncomfortable atmosphere where it appears that every person is there not to interact naturally with each other, but instead to be seen. This seems to be most extrapolated in the scenes with Olivier (played by Kenneth Branagh) and the rest of the production team on set, possibly making a subtle jibe at the often attention seeking off-screen actions of celebrity actors and directors, both past and present.

"Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude..."

The script, meanwhile, dips and dives through highs and lows which would be more at home in a rather twee romantic comedy and a Lars von Trier movie, respectively; best not to muddle the two up. The weaving plot slots perfectly into the almost bipolar peaks and troughs of elation and depression that Marilyn was prone to experiencing, and further illustrates the instability of her celebrity lifestyle and her fragile psyche creating a rather unsettling confusion where we aren't sure whether we're meant to feel happy or sad in any given scene, let alone how the character is going to feel in the next five minutes. Or whether she's just going to get naked, again.

Of course there's nudity, and of course I was going to screenshot it.

I took the liberty of doing a little of research to review Marilyn which essentially extended to watching The Prince and the Showgirl and a bit of light Googling, so for my hard work I thought I'd treat you to a little snippet of the level of detail the makers of Marilyn went to to (chuffa chuffa too too) emulate the film being used as a backdrop for theirs. It's hardly a patch on Kubrick levels of detail but on watching the original it is nice to see all of the little nods to Olivier's original. I would sincerely recommend having a quick peruse of it, simply to understand the splendid job Michelle Williams did of copying Marilyn's unique personality on and off camera.

2011 on the left, 1957 on the right, and somewhere there's probably a lighthouse.

Williams manages to beautifully capture the essence that made Marilyn so special on camera before immediately transforming in the blink of an eye into the vulnerable, self-doubting child kept hidden behind the lens. Some haunting lines uttered in these moments by Williams, although sadly diluted by other things going on in the scene on one occasion, provide an unnerving insight into "what it must be like to be the most famous woman in the world", a comment uttered during a welcome cameo by Derek Jacobi (think Henry V, or if you're an uncultured worm like me, Underworld).

Over the course of the film, she triumphs in the difficult task of taking a woman so unbelievably larger than life and taming her essence to a sympathetic person lost in the splendour of Hollywood to the point that even she is unsure of who she really is any more. Although other actors are marred by the light script (Judi Dench) or simply don't fit into their roles as snugly, this is all made up for by Williams' performance, and her portrayal of a woman so beloved by all yet so misunderstood is so captivating that I've spent the entire review pretty much talking about nothing else and is certainly a performance to be remembered.

"Thank you, and goodnight."

I must be honest, I have a very soft spot for the little corner of cinema where the movies about movies live. There's something captivating about getting to peek behind the camera even if, technically, you aren't. It's like when you visit their house they're the kind of people who give you free reign of the fridge and have a full set of toiletries laid out on you bed for you. Plus they don't mind when you bring round that woman you met at the pub who smells of blood, gin and cabbage.

They'll even burn the sheets and disinfect your wounds. Such good people.

But do not fear, this review is not biased simply because a character shouts "cut!" a couple of times. They'd have to do that at least, ohh...twelve times?

Overall Ben Equivalence Rating

Buying a Good Quality Fake Watch - 

You know it'll never be as good as the original, but despite the painted-on clock face and misspelled brand name you can't help but love it, because it's the closest you'll ever get to the real thing.

NB. Number of times "Marilyn" was said in this post: 16

Five (Random) Things

You readery people are probably getting a little tired of constant movie reviews so I've decided to shake things up a bit and do something different, and this totally has nothing to do with me having not finished the next review yet. The very kind Fiona happened to tag me in one of these chain mail thingys that you can't seem to get away from, so naturally I feel obliged to join in the fun. I won't take the piss too much, promise...

The face of a man who knows how to keep a promise.

Rules

I don't need your rules, man! You don't own me!

5 Things You Need Every Day

1. Air. For the breathings. (read in a Swedish accent, its funnier)
2. A thesaurus for instigating the stimulation of my ponderous musings into, horrendously misplaced punctuation and a lack of grammatical prowess. Sorry Fiona, your number 2 was like that.
3. A six hour face and foot massage from my Portuguese boy-servant/apple thief, Pablo, who, for the record, is paid a living wage of two dried apricots and some shredded newspaper per week.
4. My bestest fwends Kandii and Lorraine, who can be found enjoying some [censored] together at www.[censored].com.
5. A quick swig from my antimony goblet to help the rest of the feast go down.

The face of a man being driven mad by heavy metal poisoning.

5 Books You Would Recommend

I don't read a lot, but I've picked a couple that happened to be within reach of the laptop, and a few that I just Googled.

1. The Wiseard's Companion - Ancient Wizards in Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch

2. Quite Ugly One Morning - Christopher Brookmyre

3. Waiting for Godot - Samuel Becket (you won't have head of it, now excuse me while I sit under a tree and masturbate on my iPad)

4. Buyer's Guide to TV, Phone and Broadband - Virgin Media

5. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire - Edward Gibbon (oo-oo)

The face of a man too cool for Roman history.

5 Materialistic Wishes for Christmas Presents

1. A PS4. Duh.

2. Donald Trump. A hellish tool of capitalism, but he's great fun to play Twister with. It counts as a loss if the toupee falls off.

3. A film camera. Like, for filming. Not one that uses film.

4. A Subway reward card with 8'000'000 points loaded onto it.

5. An African orphan, so I can give him a present for his Christmas. Then ship him back.

The face of a man who doesn't know what Christmas is.

5 Places You Want to Visit

1. New Zealand. Not Australia. Have you seen the number of things that want to kill you over there?

2. Norwegian Fjords by boat. Preferably a really posh one.  

3. Kenya. Mainly for the tigers.

4. Pripyat. They say it's great for fruit picking.

5. Peru. The Mecca for over-privileged, middle class, white teenagers.

The face of a man with the squits after eating that dodgy roasted goat.

5 Adjectives That Describe You

1. Sarcastic (no way!)

2. Obsessive-Compulsive

3. Eloquently Hypocritical

4. Psychotic

5. Lemon

The face of the man who doesn't understand any of those foreign words.

5 Things You'd Say To People About Life

1. If the spoon doesn't stand up in it by itself, it isn't strong enough.

2. Never judge a woman by her looks, but by her cassolette.

3. Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start 

4. Never grow up. They make you get a job.

5. Never trust a Roman emperor.

The face of a man who has hurt feelings.

Tagged Blogs

Apparently I now have to tag some people... Do other people actually use this site? I thought it was just me. So I clicked next blog a couple of times and bunged some people on here. Consider it a lucky dip of blogs.

1. This one

2. This Pugh 

3. Barney McGrew

4. Cuthbert, Dibble

5. And Grubb

Also Rhona.

I don't see any way that these people are ever actually going to see this, so consider this post a nice, neat little bookend to this branch of the proverbial snaking web of chain posts. You're welcome.

And Now, I Spoil The Skeleton Key, With Spoilers

Here's one for you. What do you get when you cross Misery with Scooby Doo on Zombie Island?

Apart from the easiest way to ruin a child for ever.

The correct answer is The Skeleton Key. One of those spooky thrillers that was all the rage around the late nineties and early noughties. Inspired by a certain movie's unusual success and based on the same model of the predictably unpredictable ending, these films are enjoyable for the simple fact that you know exactly what you're getting before you even start the torrent downloading, because who the hell would pay for a movie that looks exactly like the last five?

"I see dead advertising executives."

You may not remember this film coming out. There is not a lot that is special about The Skeleton Key. The only reason I'm writing about it is so I could make the gif up there. You will know the entire plot before I even tell you. After I tell you, you'll know it twice. And you'll have forgotten something important to make brain-room for it. Like where your mum's grave is. Or which of your neighbours is a convicted paedophile. Or which neighbour's house you left your child at.

"From what I can see, he's either at Jackie's having milk and cookies or at Dave's being sodomised."

Shall we get this over and done with then? Let's rattle through the list of ever so original aspects found in this wonderful example of modern Hollywood cinema: A big, old, creaky white house with a dark past (from my knowledge these places make up 80% of American real estate, the other 20% being the White House and/or government testing facilities), a surprisingly attractive blonde protagonist, ghosts in one form or another, a possible magical influence, the plot device cum weak character who will undoubtedly turn out to be the bad guy by the end and some kind of secret room or book or conch or casserole dish that the character is told in no uncertain terms not to go near.

I watched this for one reason and one reason alone, John Hurt. That guy is my old man crush. He is beautiful, I would happily take a Face-Hugger for him, and he only ever seems to appear in good movies.

He tries his best to hide in any bad ones.

This is not a good movie. It's not a bad movie either, though. It's just mind-numbingly plain. And Mr. Hurt's role is the first warning sign of that fact. He is cast as the elderly husband of this totally-not-going-to-turn-out-to-be-evil woman, motionless and afraid after suffering from what we are told is a stroke. He is the sole reason we are at the house in the first place and the only line he utters in the entire movie is the stuttered cry of "Help me!" through gritted teeth and a cold, empty gaze. So essentially he is playing the part of how the audience is feeling after about 40 minutes.

The whole experience gets a lot more meta when you imagine the parallel was intentional.

The twists are predictable, the characters one-dimensional and the scares are few and far-between and sign-posted with about as much subtlety as letting your bare chest show through your trench coat at a beauty pageant. But none of this matters, for the key to a successful horror/mystery/thriller cash cow is the story.

Bless them, they try. We've got the great set-up to a rich plot: a deep-south setting with elements of racial and religious prejudice spanning generations, the presence of authentically portrayed black magic (we'll get to that), the possibility of some good, old fashioned horror movie boobage, and an item presented at the very beginning of the film with the enticing power to open any door in the house, which is incidentally where the title of the film originates.

Incidental is the key word here. Everything you hope the movie is going to do is swiftly discarded by the director with the blasé confidence of a man with a much bigger plan. Spoiler alert: There is no such plan.

Pictured: The sum total of all the boob in the movie, and this is in a flattering aspect ratio.

The racial tension and religious presence? Used to set up a very thin story involving a lovely lynch/hanging of two black servants/religious magic practitioners (takes me back to my childhood). Black magic? Introduced along-side a novel concept (patience, we're getting there) before falling into the usual rut of tiresome tropes. The Skeleton Key? What skeleton key? Oh, that thing; it's completely forgotten about around the twenty minute mark. After a promising opening we are treated to a run-of-the-mill affair where the protagonist slowly unravels the very poorly hidden secret of the house's owners and learns that the magic she believed to be total hocum was actually real and OH MY GOD it turns out that the seemingly well meaning old lady and possible love interest are actually evil Hoodoo (not a typo) magicians or whatever.

I would have considered it a spoiler if these two didn't already look so much like untrustworthy bastards.

It's safe to say there's nothing here you couldn't find elsewhere that look and feels less like a cheap copy. But, for the sake of good sportsmanship, I will now take a moment to look at the better aspects of the film.

It's the thought that counts, and the makers of this film can be proud of that. The magic which serves as the primary source of creepy shit (technical term) in the story has been nicely researched for authenticity. Hoodoo differs slightly from the more commonly known southern religion of Voodoo in that it focuses much more heavily on the use of folk magic to improve a believer's "luck". Much of what we usually see in film and TV is often Hoodoo practices incorrectly placed under the Voodoo banner. It's a little thing, but it makes you feel like the writers really tried to come up with something authentic. Although they did choose to omit the fact that said magic often involves the use of semen and menstrual blood in their spells.

It's amazing how one letter can make such a difference.

Moving straight on from that, the gimmick of the movie bases itself on the idea that said Hoodoo only works if a person believes in it; a concept which fits nicely into this kind of genre where its key to the development of the plot that the weird stuff only starts to gradually build up once our character has settled in nicely. Usually we're treated to the tiresome to and fro of "What was that noise? Oh, it's just the wind." for half an hour before shit starts to get real, but here the director is allowed to drip feed us random little snippets which begin to join together to make up the final climactic confrontation.

So yeah, The Skeleton Key is essentially another fine example of a nice concept marred by lack of imagination, shallow characters and far too many genre clichés. Also minus points for scaring John Hurt, you terrible people.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Overall Ben Equivalence Rating

Spending the Whole Day Watching Re-runs of Scrubs -
You know exactly what to expect, its enjoyable but gets shittier the longer you're watching it, and afterwards you feel very dirty...

V/H/S, Now on iTunes

Oh found-footage, how we have such a strange fascination with you. This phenomenon is either to satisfy the very niche market of motion sickness fetishists or a perfect example of our sudden, inexplicable need to regress back to a more primitive form. Like some kind of worldwide media version of Altered States.

Except, at the same time, nothing like it.

Now my previous post's mention of the infamous Succubi, or sex demons, reminded me that I had been recommended to watch a found-footage film involving some of the very same creatures.

V/H/S is one such film, and it takes place in a universe where everyone seems to think it's a good idea to record all of their sexual endeavours, whether their partner consents to it or not. Everyone in this movie is vile. From the petty criminals cum voyeurism porn makers who set up the recurring narrative to each of the unsuspecting victims of the movie's wonderfully gruesome monsters. Even the seemingly well meaning boyfriend of tape number 2 is an insufferable creep once he is alone in a room with a half-naked woman.

At last, a place where he belongs.

The formula is very quickly established and doesn't let out for the entire course of the movie. The aforementioned criminals (who, within the first fifteen minutes, have deemed it a good idea to film all of their crimes including sexual assault, breaking and entering and vandalism) search a dead guy's house for a tape that will magically make them rich, because money. Each of them then proceeds to vanish one by one after watching one of the many tapes scattered around the room containing said dead guy.

I imagine this is how they expect to get paid. At least she's using the good kind of money.

Cue each of our mini-stories. Based around a different person with a camera filming mostly mundane stuff and usually having sex or at least looking at breasts, none of the tapes are related and most of them don't even give us any back story to their host monster; we're dropped right in at the moment the camera is turned on with nary a backwards glance to see if we're keeping up.

The boundaries of reality seem to be stretched about as much during the slower scenes as in the ones involving evil alien ghost dismemberment or whatever. Go on, lets see exactly how much petrol this guy is putting in the car. And now the girl is petting a donkey. Ok, I get the idea, we're starting to get to know these two with a little bit of- DEAR GOD, now we have to watch her check the motel bed for stains.

Seriously, who are you? I know you said you wanted to film "little mementos" of your trip, but if this is interesting to you please, for my sake, pull a Bruce Willis, put on an offensive sandwich board and walk through the dodgy part of town, because at least then there's a likelihood that something interesting might happen while you talk painfully slowly about hats as you window shop.

"Honey, look, that knife is just like the one that homeless man stabbed you with."

This film revels in taking it's time and keeping you in the dark. At points the actors take so long to reply to each other's brief statements that the only possible explanation is that they might all be a couple shinys short of a full gen 1 set. But that's not all bad, this agonising pace helps set up some real suspense, and the extended periods of mundanity (is that a word?) lull you into a false sense of security for just long enough that you don't expect the next brutal murder. But now you do expect it. Cause I just told you to. You're welcome.

Oh, you tease.

And when we do get to the gore, oo, my is it yummy. Some real effort has gone into making the blood and guts look good and the monsters, especially the heavily Slender Man inspired woods murderer, feel believable even when the crazy CGI shit starts. And unlike most digitally based horror nowadays, this stuff really works. With liberal use of camera shaking and some very subtle scares (my favourite being the vanishing chair in the final tape) the directors manage to ramp up the tension before the shit hits the proverbial fan, making it all the scarier when it finally does.

On the subject of complete tangents, you know the bravery of the moment when you decide to fight back against the evil flesh-munching monster loses a little something when you're standing there utterly naked.

This image has been made suitable for children aged 5 and above.

Have you ever seen someone tear off a man's genitals and cast them aside like so many disappointing sets of authentic flesh bolas? If not, then don't, it is not pretty. If you decide to watch this movie, you don't get a choice, it comes with the happy meal. Like Vin Diesel's 2005 family hit, The Pacifier, and the classic 1978 slasher, I Spit on Your Grave before that, this movie deals with the inherent fear of complete emasculation and gruesome dismemberment at the hands of a remorseless monster that brutally punishes us for the terrible things we do in the pursuit of our basest of desires.

Ok, so I dropped the baby ball a couple of lines ago.

That's not all though. Thanks to the sorely missed Hammer House of Horror style of shorts held together by a longer narrative, we are subjected to every modern fear you could imagine, from betrayal by a loved one and haunted houses (we're all still scared by them, right?), to being stalked and having your bollocks chewed off, so there isn't a person who will leave the cinema without feeling a little shaken.

Again, this picture is irrelevant.

And I think that's where this movie makes its mark, you just can't tell what will come next. Although it starts out as a little silly, you may even laugh at the poor bastard about to become demon supper, as each video ends with a silent blue screen that little tingle down you spine gets a tiny bit stronger as you wonder what could be coming next. I mean, they're only videos, right. What's the harm in watching one more?

If you see this in your dreams, you're already dead.

Overall Ben Equivalence Rating

Talking to my Autistic Cousin -

There's a lot going on that you're not being told about, the conversation is painfully slow and the longer you're there the more uncomfortable it gets.