Imagine if in Scream, the killer had killed Drew Barrymore in a store that made latex Halloween masks, the final "killer-revealed" scene occurred in a store that made latex Halloween masks, 80% of the locals were employed at the store that made latex Halloween masks, and the ongoing subplot of the film was whether or not Neve Campbell was going to sell the store she inherited from her father--the store that made latex Halloween masks.
That is pretty much what happens in My Bloody Valentine. Only the above movie would have looked like Amadeus comparatively.
"Suck" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. The reason it isn't the right word, of course, is that My Bloody Valentine is much, much, much more egregious an act than can be summed up by a mild shrug. "Suck" is like a moving violation. Maybe theft. This movie was a triple rape. It makes Beverly Hills Ninja, The Ruins, Don't Be a Menace and The Ladies Man look like the Criterion Collection. It's an abomination, a violation of every American principle, and a war crime. The only thing that prevents me from erupting into unspeakable rage over it is the fact that the ending makes very, very clear that there will be a sequel, so I will reserve my energy for that time.
But enough about the bad. I loved how:
- Of course, in the oh-so-standard way that horror movie "chase" scenes operate, women always have unbeatable strength. The same woman that would burst out in tears and demand an ER visit if she tripped off the bottom step or got hit in the chest by a lightly-tossed tennis ball now turns into a blend of Superwoman and Jacqueline Chan, successfully fending off serial killers and using her surroundings (desk, mop, roast beef) to do it. And that, obviously, goes along perfectly with the Golden Rule of horror films: Female protagonists cannot die. Because that would be gay.
- Early in the film, when the team of miners finally gets down to the scene of the newest murder, the first thing one minor does is check the victim's pulse. Normally, this would be appropriate. However, not 38 seconds earlier, we--everyone watching the screen--just saw the killer chop at the victim's body 40 times with a pickax and remove his heart. So maybe it's a waste of time to check his pulse.
- The town where everything takes place ostensibly has a population of about 84. It's Bumfuck's veritable epicenter. It's a bunch of miners and a bunch of people that make coffee for the miners. It seems they have a town-specific paper, though it's not clear why, since it doesn't seem that they have any local government (somewhere in the midst of the slew of horrific murders, the mayor might have at least made his presence known). Okay, but back to topic. Pretend you're the head sherriff of this town. And everyone is getting killed, left and right. Am I crazy, or is this generally a spot where state and federal authorities are called in? Why is it always the case that a 3-man Nickelodeon operation is fending off a sprawling, rural village from a crazed murderer? From an efficiency standpoint, it just doesn't make much sense.
- Small as it may be, the town still has a black person. He is a police officer. He fulfills all the duties of your normal African-American in a teen slasher film: He is somewhat hip, always deferential to his white superior, pegged as a possible suspect multiple times, vindicated in the end, and ultimately really fucking awful at his job. Go Obama.
- The acting is at an oh-my-god level in My Bloody Valentine. "Bad" doesn't describe it. The supposed hero cop dude seems to fancy himself as the rightful heir to the throne of Freddie Prinze, Jr. The female protagonist is neither good-looking enough, non-vapid enough, or unique enough (yeah, yeah, usage error) to warrant a second glance, let alone praise. She would need the combined powers of Drew Rosenhaus and Ari Gold to even get a role in the sequel. The guy who turns out to be the killer took an... interesting acting route, stylistically speaking. He seemed to think it was appropriate to alternate between his Ryan Phillippe impression and his Darth Vader impression. I did not.
- There is a scene in the beginning of the movie--trust me, you can't miss it--where a girl is running around naked for 5 minutes, first just because that's apparently what people do when they're bored in flyover country, but then because she's actually trying to evade a very bloody death. (She doesn't succeed.) More to the point, during this scene I remembered that this was touted as My Bloody Valentine 3D, and so I started wondering what this scene would have looked like through 3D goggles. And then I started wondering what the whole movie would have looked like through 3D goggles. And meanwhile, I'm sitting there watching it on a normal screen. Maybe, with the appropriate $1.50 3D goggles available at any 5-and-10, this movie becomes the brilliant lovechild of John Carpenter and Wes Craven. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Probably not. Yeah, not at all.
