Who's There?

Year: 2015

Director: Eli Roth

Cast: Keanu Reeves, Lorenza Izzo, Ana de Armas

Run Time: 1 hour 39 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

Oh, Eli Roth. After a long period of anxious waiting, we have been blessed with two of your movies in the same year. What could we possibly say but thank you? And how generous of you to present us with the rare opportunity of sneaking a glimpse into your vast spectrum of work by having those films be the best in your career (the 6 out of 10 cannibal throwback The Green Inferno) and the worst (freaking Knock Knock)! So very kind!

Kalloo! Kalay! Kill me!

In Knock Knock, devoted family man Evan Webber (Keanu Reeves) is spending Father’s Day weekend at home alone while his wife and kids are on vacation. He hopes to spend his time finishing up an important architecture project because he’s an important architect, but when two young women seek refuge during a rainstorm, he feels compelled to help them out. Their names are Genesis (Lorenza Izzo, AKA Mrs. Eli Roth) and Bell (Ana de Armas), and they attempt to repay his generosity with a hot, steamy shower threesome. He puts up a good fight, but ultimately caves to their feminine wiles.

In the morning, the girls have changed. They run around wrecking the house, generally acting like six-year-olds and refusing to leave. Eventually they get bored and start to torture him in a variety of creative (see: not actually effective) ways, including blasting loud music, destroying his wife’s artwork, and giving him a Bill & Ted haircut.

The horror!

In case you were wondering if the inherent misogyny present in the “women are wicked vixens who will seduce and destroy you” storyline would be Eli Roth’s only calling card, rest assured. He finds plenty of time to call things “gay” and “retarded” because his movies exist in an alternate universe where it is permanently 2006. Also, apparently Bubble Tape is sexy there. It’s a strange and frightening place.

And in case you were worried Knock Knock would have too much plot, never fear! It has almost none. At least, none that could happen to a non-lobotomized, rational human being who has a cause-and-effect sort of relationship with the universe. The plot is almost exclusively driven by people who make the single worst decision possible in every given situation, sometimes even attempting a solution so far removed from the realm of logic that it wasn’t even apparent as an option. The leverage the girls hold over Evan is nonexistent, his attempts to overtake them are farcically feeble, and the veritable cornucopia of opportunities to redeem himself are blatantly ignored. It plays out like a sitcom, where the problem could be solved if only every character didn’t have the emotional and analytical range of a toddler.

Actually, that’s rude. I’m sorry for saying that about you, toddlers.

Of course, the plot being the withered trunk that it is, was it ever likely that the dialogue would properly sprout into lush, verdant foliage? No, the script was never going to be particularly good, but the level of its inadequacy feels like an active attack on the audience. It’s like linguistic napalm, obliterating every brain cell in its path. 

Ranging from the obvious (“You’re hurting me!”) to the ludicrous (“As an architect, obviously I believe that fate occurs according to one’s own design.”), Knock Knock’s screenplay is full of choice pockets of unintentional hilarity. This all culminates in a Keanu monologue of such titanic atrocity, performed with all the sputtering, red-faced bravado of a drunk auctioneer, that it’s a damn human rights violation that it hasn’t already become a widespread YouTube meme. 

I will, however, allow the script one reprieve. The punchline to the entire thing is pure gold, almost worth sitting through 90 minutes of feckless shouting. Of course, it’s instantly followed by the single worst comic quip in the entire film, so that esteem flies right through the window and back into the dumpster where it belongs.

My one apology for this across-the-board pan is that I genuinely don’t think Eli Roth is a bad director. I’m not a fan of his films, but that’s largely thanks to their Spring Break Daytona Beach 1999 content. It’s two weeks of sweaty, drunk frat bellowing concentrated into one solid lump, but that doesn’t mean it looks bad. Much like Roth himself, the questionable content is delivered in a remarkably handsome package. The imagery in Knock Knock isn’t full of meaning or subtext or any gay crap like that, but it’s crisp, colorful, and cleanly presented. Roth really knows how to squeeze a clean looking product out of his budget, and not even my angry ranting can take that away from him.

TL;DR: Knock Knock is an ineptly-told story that wouldn't be worth watching even if it wasn't.

Rating: 3/10

Word Count: 812

Popcorn Kernels: We're Five College Students On Our Way To An Old Abandoned Cabin In The Woods

For this round of mini reviews, let’s get back to basics by trekking to a secluded area where there’s no cell phone reception. It’ll be just like the olden days! I hope our car doesn’t break down.

The Cabin in the Woods

Year: 2012
Director: Drew Goddard
Cast: Kristen Connolly, Chris Hemsworth, Anna Hutchison
Run Time: 1 hour 35 minutes
MPAA Rating: R

For our podcast episode, featuring an in depth review of Cabin in the Woods, click here.

Five college students vacation in a secluded cabin where they are beset by a zombie redneck torture family.

The Cabin in the Woods does for cabin in the woods movies what Scream did for slashers, although it flips the script. Where Scream was funny because the hip 90’s teens were aware they were in a horror flick, the bronzed babes of Cabin in the Woods are funny because they have no idea they’re in the middle of a movie. If you’re not into midway spoilers, here’s where you jump ship. You see, the horror movie scenario is being manipulated by office workers intent on making sure everybody but the virgin perishes.

The humor comes from the absurdly casual manner that these men and women orchestrate teen destruction as if it were a pencil pushing day job. Unfortunately, though the teens are entertaining thanks to a snappy script co-written by Buffymeister Joss Whedon, this renders the actual horror story pretty rote and pointless. Every time we return to our campers (including a pre-Thor Chris Hemsworth sporting the best hair of his career), the sparkle fades somewhat until we can return to what really drives the narrative.

However, a dimmer glimmer is still a glimmer, and Cabin in the Woods never stops being a fun tromp through the flattened brush of the horror genre. It’s far more comedy than horror, but a few atmospheric scenes do send a tingle down the spine. But where the movie really triumphs is in neither scares nor laughs, but rather sheer cleverness. The construction of the film is so elaborately detailed that it’s hard not to just sit back and marvel at its postmodern perfection.

This is one film that certainly demands a second viewing, because the flavor of the first half changes tremendously given the context of the finale. In essence, The Cabin in the Woods is two different films, with more subtleties emerging from the woodwork upon rewatch. And depending on how much moral fiber is in your diet, you might just switch sides. In a way, CitW is like a football game or a Twitter feud, with equal fun derived from rooting for either team.

I do wish the zombified antagonists were a little ore interesting and the deaths a little less indifferent ,but these complaints are heartily addressed (and then some) by a gonzo finale. It’s just plain an exuberantly fun movie, no two ways about it. While I’m certainly a little perturbed by the movie’s eagerness to indict horror viewers for not abhorring the violence of the genre, it’s nevertheless an infinitely witty twist on the genre that pushes meta horror to the next level. I’ve vacationed in this cabin many times before and I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Rating: 8/10

Cabin Fever

Year: 2003
Director: Eli Roth
Cast: Jordan Ladd, Rider Strong, James DeBello
Run Time: 1 hour 33 minutes
MPAA Rating: R

Five college students vacation in a secluded cabin where they are beset by a nasty flesh-eating virus.

I genuinely liked this movie for about five minutes, which is a pretty decent record for an Eli Roth picture. The characters seemed vulgar but kind, the humor was licentious but fun, and the zany atmosphere was settling in nicely. Then Eli Roth remembered who he was and the whole thing went straight to hell in a severed hand basket.

Above all else, Roth has a talent for writing venomously irritating douchebags, a skill he displays right from the get-go. Once you have a chance to get to know them, the characters populating Cabin Fever are downright nauseating. Their already trite dialogue (“safe sex” is a quip that wouldn’t pass muster in a Leprechaun movie, a franchise that had two straight entries that took place “in da hood.” And those were the better ones!) quickly runs out of steam, mutating into a sick competition to see who can pointlessly shout the F-word more times. It’s not a script so much as a laundry list of groundless obscenities. Not a single conversation can go by without somebody bursting into a rage and calling somebody a slut, whether they’re talking about killing a man or debating their favorite beer brands.

Look, I’m no Puritan about language. I’ve seen The Big Lebowski, I can handle a little cursing. Hell, that film is a monument to the four-letter word. But there comes a point when the cussing drowns out the script, the result of an amateur director looking to shock but never really understanding why. It’s like a smoke alarm that needs new batteries, dutifully shrieking with brainless devotion. Instead of being fun, it’s just immensely frustrating. When your viewers only continue watching because they’ve succumbed to exhaustion and no longer have the energy to reach the remote, you’ve got a problematic film on your hands.

A lot of the film’s failures can be chalked up to a first-time filmmaker. Abrupt fade-outs and jarring edits suggest that the coverage wasn’t quite what he wanted it to be, and the slapdash experimentation with color and alternative POVs show a Raimi-esque ambition but none of that master’s innate flair for the macabre. In fact, Cabin Fever is largely composed of material regurgitated from other classic films like The Last House on the Left and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, with a sizable dollop of Friday the 13th. This kind of construction is typical for a neophyte, but the personality sprinkled atop that amateur framework is one that will haunt Roth throughout his career.

No matter how far you run, you always bring yourself along for the ride, and that’s why Cabin Fever’s major flaws are just as unforgivable as those that riddle Roth’s films a decade down the line. He might get more experienced, but he’s still stuck with himself. Because, wonky construction aside, this movie really just isn’t very good at all, which is a shame considering its truly solid potential.

Unbearable characters with microscopic motivations (including a cop who must get a dollar for every time he says the word “party”) rattle around a pinball machine of effective but hardly revolutionary gore (the standard tune of my Roth reviews, or so it seems), plus Roth himself steps in with what is unequivocally the most grating, soul-suckingly unfunny cameo in the history of cinema. Armed with a soul patch and a sub-par Zoolander impression, he stabs the movie in the heart and leaves it to die.

The one bright beacon of hope in this incessantly boorish film is the convenience store, the location of the film’s two best scenes, as well as its most haphazardly iconic. Here, largely thanks to the unforgettable, breathy performance from ingenious unknown Robert Harris, the film’s intention shines brightest and it briefly becomes the palatable, silly horror venture it constantly wishes it could be. Cabin Fever is a major disappointment, but these scenes prevent it from being utterly contemptible, which Ii admittedly rare with this particular director.

Rating: 5/10
Word Count: 1242

I Eat Cannibals, Pt. 1

Year: 2015

Director: Eli Roth

Cast: Lorenza Izzo, Ariel Levy, Aaron Burns

Run Time: 1 hour 40 minutes

MPAA Rating: R

I like to think of myself as somewhat of a horror authority. The couple odd hundred reviews I have catalogued right here should back me up a little bit on that statement. But I must confess, I find myself a bit flummoxed by The Green Inferno, which is a heavy concoction of areas in which I hold microscopically little expertise.

First and foremost, The Green Inferno is a cannibal film in the vein of 1980’s Cannibal Holocaust (which also holds the distinction of being the first found footage film). The only cannibal film I’ve ever seen is the quasi-slasher Anthropophagus, which I admittedly adore, but isn’t quite in the same savage vein. Second and… secondmost, The Green Inferno is an Eli Roth film. I hate to admit my modern horror illiteracy, but I’ve never seen a single frame of footage from a Roth picture before this.

Both of these factors contributed to the film being pulled from its initial 2013 release, presumably because the studios balked at attempting to market such a hardcore production. So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself sickeningly horrified exactly no times. What I should have been prepared for – had I been more Roth-ducated going into the film – is what I got: a cinematically sound, skillfully rendered, erratically xenophobic frat boy Facebook rant.

Is it even possible to be racist against Peruvians? Do white people know Peru exists?

During its drawn out, doomed journey from the backwaters of 2013 to now, The Green Inferno has sought to tell us the tale of another doomed journey. College student Justine (Lorenza Izzo) actually starts paying attention in humanities class and decides to join an activist group on campus, against the better judgment of her roommate Kaycee (singer Sky Ferreira, whose eyelids must be made of lead – either that or she was lightly clubbed before each take). And by better judgment, I mean: “activism is gay.” Did I mention that every single line of hers is essentially just Eli Roth shouting his Twitter feed into your eardrums through a megaphone? She’s the toxic younger cousin of the Mary Sue characters: Douchey Sue.

Anyway, Justine decides to join the activists on a trip to Peru to stop a construction crew form destroying the forest and murdering an ancient, untouched civilization in the Amazon. To my considerable displeasure, Kaycee does not go with her, preventing us the delights of watching her get ripped apart by cannibals. However, this means that she’s in less of the movie. It’s a fair trade. The demonstration is a success, but when Justine’s life is endangered in the process, she loses faith in the group’s leader, Alejandro (Ariel Levy). Needles to say, on the way home, their plane goes down and they end up being captured by the very civilization they were attempting to protect, who turnout to be a tribe of murderous cannibals.

How come the foreigners in these films are never just lonely accountants or something?

Some might say the big problem with The Green Inferno is that its subject matter is inherently fraught with wildly inappropriate race relations. While I will take a stab at tackling this topic a little later on, this could fill a freaking ten-page thesis, so for the sake of brevity and the spirit of exploitation, let’s forgive our cannibal film its cannibal plot line. The real issue here is that The Green Inferno is light years from being as visceral and shocking as it imagines that it is, which is a profoundly irritating fact.

It must be said that the gore effects provided by Greg Nicotero (of The Walking Dead) and his crew are the A-level work of masters of the craft allowed to do some really exciting, fun stuff that tests the resilience of the American censorship board. It’s top-notch splotch. But the atrocities that they’re called upon to render aren’t too far removed from the zombie mincemeat that audiences get pumped into their homes every week on TV. Maybe we’re just being desensitized, but there’s only one violent sequence in the film that will ultimately challenge the intestinal integrity of a tried-and-true horror veteran.

Don’t get me wrong, the rest of the gore is superb. The film wouldn’t have a severed leg to stand on without it, and two sequences in particular are the best in the film on the strength of well-timed effects. It’s the smugness I can’t tolerate. Even a scatological scene – the last bastion of the desperately controversial – lacks the guts to really sell the grimness of its scenario. A Hangover movie would take more risks with a scene like that. Not that it’s a bad thing to be dissimilar to a Hangover flick, but you get the picture. This movie wouldn’t have you running to join a nunnery.

That said, it’s sure to scare the straws right out of all those junior high-ers’ venti passion teas.

This is the course that most of The Green Inferno takes: wildly competent, but without enough juice to push it over the edge. The Amazonian location photography is lush and beautiful, if a bit workmanlike, the surprising sense of humor is a frequently welcome presence is a bit too attuned to gay jokes and fat-shaming for my liking, and the pacing is brisk without anything particularly eventful pushing it forward. It is but it isn’t, all the way across the finish line.

At least the acting is pretty consistent. With one glaring (literally) exception, every actor in the film is at the very least a credible screen presence. The true standouts are the villagers, portrayed by a real lost Amazonian tribe with chilling vérite, bolstered by only two professional performers. I daresay it’s a compelling argument that we should stop casting pop stars in projects when a group of people who had literally never seen a movie before turn in better, more enthralling performances. On top of all this, Lorenza Izzo is openly superb, endowing her character with a warmth and light that exquisitely empties into hollow desperation.

The combined efforts of the cast somewhat elevate the stock flatness of the characters themselves, but come on. This is The Green Inferno. Something was going to have to come along and temper hat nearly unadulterated praise.

You know how I hate to be the bearer of bad news.

The Green Inferno is contemporary horror in a nutshell: Sometimes funny, sometimes gross, never dull, and never scary. Overall, it’s a half-decent thrill ride, but it’s slackly slick throughout.

So now comes the moment of truth. Is this film xenophobic? Obviously a solid argument can be made that all films in this vein inherently are. But this is Eli Roth, after all, and he prefers a general smattering of misanthropy for flavor, and the people who really come out worst here are the activists themselves. Don’t come into this film expecting a well-thought-out treatise on the plight of ancient tribes, but it’s not quite as bad as you might expect in terms of treating indigenous tribes as savages. His malformed opinions about social justice in the Internet era end up slipping and spewing bile out of both ends, but in general he vaguely tends toward intimation that hey, these cannibals, they’re people too.

After all, you know what they say.

You are what you eat.

TL;DR: The Green Inferno is a gory, decently fun, but shallow film that wastes its potential.
Rating: 6/10
Should I Spend Money On This? If you're not a jaded horror nerd like me and you're ready for some blood, go for it.
Word Count: 1284