Review by Matt Finley
It sounds terrible on paper – a
cuddlier Jack Torrance stars in a remake of 8MM as re-imagined
by PARANORMAL ACTIVITY fans. Wow. It sounds even worse if you
read it out loud. Fortunately, as executed by writer C. Robert
Cargill and director Scott Derrickson (THE EXCORCISM OF EMILY
ROSE), SINISTER is a decent, ticket-price-worthy specimen
of mainstream horror, its potentially noxious cocktail of been-theres
and done-thats poured expertly into the filmic equivalent of one of
those garish girly drinks that you order as a half-ironic joke, but
then secretly enjoy.
(To further torture that metaphor, the
miniature folding umbrella is Ethan Hawke, who plays every jangled
nerve to its fullest.)
Here’s the story: Ellison
(Hawke) is a has-been true crime writer with affection for the bottle
and a slowly fracturing family life. He’s just dragged his
reluctant kin to a new house, where he’s certain he’ll pen
his next bestseller - an exposé on the unsolved
kidnapping and brutal murders that occurred on that very same chunk
of real estate. As his weary wife, Tracy (Juliet Rylance),
nightmare-plagued son, Trevor (Michael Hall D’Adarrio) and artsy
young daughter, Ashley (Clare Foley), attempt to adjust, Ellison
discovers a mysterious box of terrifying Super 8 home movies. Turns
out said kidnapping and brutal murders are just the blood-soaked
tip of a hellish, supernatural iceberg.
If Derrickson’s EMILY ROSE was good for anything, it was the unlikely genre mashing of body-contorting paranormal horror with gavel-pounding courtroom drama. Likewise, SINISTER’s most attractive attribute is the incorporation of a procedural paper chase (/ Interweb slalom) into an otherwise middleweight Boo-and-EEK! haunted house joint. From behind an initially unshakable goateed intensity, Ellison glares at yarn-webbed maps, crime scene photos, newscast recordings and, of course, the hissing Super 8 atrocities, coaxing out clue after clue. For the tedious case-file digging, he enlists the help of an overeager police deputy (James Ransone [AKA Ziggy from The Wire(!)]), whose scenes help to not only break-up Hawke’s booze-tickled game of solo detective, but also provide goofy comedic relief – a must for a movie that would otherwise feel one click too serious, hamstrung on its own gaudy, over-muscled darkness.
There’s definitely a legitimate
creep-factor in SINISTER’s buildup, which is successful in
allowing the imagination to wander, untethered, through a dark world
of ritual murders, half-glanced monsters and the requisite
unexplained floor creaks, but as the disparate clues begin to
accrete, the goosepimpled tension recedes considerably. Cargill has
cited a nightmare he had after watching THE RING as his
initial script inspiration. But whereas THE RING offered an
elegantly simple supernatural threat with the potential to toe-tag
anyone with a VCR and some spare curiosity, SINISTER’s
antgonist, for as convincingly as its portrayed, doesn’t have the
same raw, proliferate nightmarish weight. Also, the creature reminded
me way too much of Der Kinderstadt from that terrible second season
Buffy episode.
In general, as a capital ‘H’
Horror flick, SINISTER feels just a touch too safe. The whole
business cadges its simple structure from PARANORMAL ACTIVITY
– daily day, night, day, night repetition, where the days are
packed tight with spook-free character building and plot
machinations, leaving the nights open for a steadily escalating
series of madcap demon capers. Meanwhile, the overbearing musical
score telegraphs each impending scare.
Don’t mistake me – when the
sun sets and the music swells, there’s some legit freakiness afoot,
but all the warning signs create the horror equivalent of a laugh
track – just as a network sitcom's guffawing directive to
chuckle reduces the raw impact of a joke, so, too, do the
dark-and-humming preludes to chaos bleach out all but the most
expected anxiety, the most familiar tension. I know – the
phenomenon is epidemic in bad horror… it’s just a bummer to see
it so front-and-center in an otherwise decent flick.
I know. Studios are like Taco Bell when
it comes to horror. They take the popular ingredients -
some creepy kids, a splash of found footage, and 64oz Coke-rattling
attic bangs – and repackage them into an endless string of variably
titled cinematic Chalupas. And, sure, SINISTER contains
all those elements... But, for the most part, it genuinely feels like
there’s a live person behind it.
You know what? Forget the whole girly
drink thing. SINISTER is like a homemade taco, just, you know,
one made by a guy who used to work at Taco Bell. (2 1/2 out of 4
Stars)
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