B. R. Kreep’s Musical ‘Halloween’ Heads Off-B’way
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A new musical comedy by award-winning composer/lyricist B. R. Kreep
titled HALLOWEEN, where it’s trick or treat every night, hits the
off-Broadway boards...
7.08.2008
BEWARE THE SHRUBBERY - "THE RUINS" SLITHERS ONTO DVD
by
R. O'DONNELL
Alrighty then, The Ruins, according to IMDb (and they never lie) won a Golden Trailer award nomination for best horror poster. That’s right, best horror poster. Okay. There it is then. They almost won. So, go out and find the poster if you can (allposters.com) and tape that puppy to your bedroom wall and quickly turn off the lights. Then, in the moonlight or with some candles flickering in the distance for effect, simply stare at it until it you scream your bloody head off. That’s about as scary as this picture ever gets. I mean, c’mon, guys, it’s about these pissed-off Mayan vines in Mexico that whisper a horror movie soundtrack right outta Children of the Corn and can giggle all cartoony and can even imitate your voice or the ring-tone on your cell phone–this is really scary stuff.
Written by Scott B. Smith (and he also penned the book I never heard of) The Ruins has some damned good acting in it. No, really. I’m being serious now. Mostly from the two sexy lead gals though: Jena Malone (remember her from Contact, playing the young Jodie Foster role? Now she’s all grown up and my-oh-my so cute) and Laura Ramsey (Lords of Dogtown) blonde bombshell with some muscle she can really pour it on. They both deliver the goods with their ample amount of beauty, brains, and brawn, plus the ability to cry and go insane with terror and snot dripping out their noses quite believably. Did I tell you that these monster vines with red flowers also love to dive into your cuts and suck the blood right out of you like long green stringy leaches-yum. And the guys aren’t too bad either, the best performance handed-in by Jonathan Tucker (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake), they just die too easily–no dramatic monologues about I could’ve been a rock star or my mother told me not come. Shame ‘cause they could’ve handled it and the plot needed some spice.
When the horror, the horror, the horror slithers around our heroes’ feet it can get kind of tense. Until you realize once again that they’re just plants. Plants, like from Munchkin land in Oz. A vine with what looks like plastic leaves t’boot. It’s hard to imagine any real danger except a truly bad case of poison ivy–yikes. And if your indulging in any illegal herbal refreshment the whole damn movie is going to turn into a giggle fest, of course. Which may not be a bad thing, I guess. Better than a total dud. Also, there’s some pretty wicked gore here and when Tucker’s character plays MD (he’s in medical school so he has everyone search for aspirin–please don’t ask) and starts lopping limbs off with a kitchen knife. And we’re not talking about the shrubbery.
But the problem is that the repulsion needed for a truly horrifying experience just isn’t enough. And there’s this whole other subplot with a tribe of Mayans trying to keep the deadly vines quarantined by killing anyone and anything in sight. Actually, the scariest part of the whole movie was the lead Mayan played convincingly by actor Sergio Calderon–he was scary as hell. Freaked the b’jesus outta me. Oh, and the thought they dumped as much money as they did into this horror shrubbery nightmare, that gave me willies for days.
Oh, and I forgot to tell you that this was the UNRATED version, way too intense for moviegoers. So, um, move away from the houseplants before you slip the DVD in. You’ve been warned.
DVD EXTRAS are pretty cool if you dug the film, like (I’m quoting the box) never-before-seen-alternate ending. Never before seen? Of course it hasn’t ‘cause it ended up on the cutting room floor. There’s an equally exciting original theatrical ending–huh? And director Carter Smith and editor Jeff Betancourt commentary that takes itself maybe a bit too seriously for deadly weeds gone amuck.
Labels:
horror,
Movie Review,
O'Donnell,
R. O'Donnell,
Ruins,
Scott B. Smiith
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