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This Geek in Netflix: It’s My Party and I’ll Die if I Want to

by AllisonnnnnApril 25, 2012

At 1AM on Monday night, I was feeling kinda loopy. You know, that pleasant tired when one starts hallucinating that there might be clowns in one’s pocket. Instead of doing what any normal person would do and curl up in sweet unconscious oblivion, I decided to watch a movie on Netflix.

After sorting through various obvious rejects (The Exorcist?? What a lame name—pass.), I decided on a swell looking flick called It’s My Party and I’ll Die if I Want to. How could I go wrong?

Almost exactly 24 hours later, I’m not quite feeling equally loopy, but I’m definitely getting there. So here’s some lazy reporting. This low-budget film, shot for less than $20K per the production company’s website, has won awards at the Full Moon Film Festival (not associated with Full Moon Features), the Action on Film International Film Festival, the Dark Carnival Film Festival… okay, I’m stopping there. This is boring me as I write it. That’s talent.

The movie was made. The movie was released. The movie won some awards. The movie had some unknown (but surprisingly decent) actresses in it, one of which is also in a movie called Fetish Dolls Die Laughing, which appears to be about how the “tickle monster” is real and turning women into perverted tickle fetishists. This is almost the most fantastic thing I’ve heard all week.

Don’t ask what the most fantastic thing is. Trust me.

According to legend—or at least the beginning of this film—in 1930, Jacob Burkitt locked up his family in their “manor” and, in typical batshit fashion, went on a murderous rampage, killing his wife and their six children. Since that time, no one has been able to occupy the “manor” (it’s a goddamned house) for more than a few months and several more deaths have occurred within its walls.

Fast-forward to present day. It’s Halloween—like it tends to be in horror movies—in some non-descript Midwest town. While Sara, an over-achieving redhead, is out over-achieving and being generally sexless in nature, her friends are putting the finishing touches on her surprise birthday party… at the haunted Burkitt house.

Happy birthday, all of your friends are dead!

Sara, you see, is a big horror movie and Halloween fan. Maybe she’s simply just one of those quirky girls that loves the dark and macabre. Maybe she’s self-obsessed and wants to celebrate her birthday year round because she’s a soulless redhead. We’ll never know.

As her friends slowly trickle into the house to do pre-party hijinks, they start dying off. And by dying, I mean they’re being gruesomely murdered by the ghosts of Jacob Burkitt and his family. Just after the token Asian chick, Jill, gets her heart ripped out (not in that lame metaphor way), Sara receives her last minute party invite and pulls out a costume she “happened to have on hand”.

What is she for Halloween? Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Fuck. Yes.

Rushing over to her party, Sara soon finds that she’s got more in store for her than a few presents and some GHB.

Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid?! Count us in!

This movie was incredibly low-budget. Film quality hearkens back to the 70s—even though it was supposedly shot digitally. Lighting was abysmal. The sets were severely limited and the “manor” was laughably unmanor-like.

However, I actually enjoyed it. The abysmal lighting added a realistic edge to particular scenes, addressing a constant mini-frustration I have with horror movies—the sudden disconnect from characters when we can see more than they can. This movie managed to make me jump a few times, even with clichéd and should-have-expected-that maneuvers, and the acting was, for the most part, good. I mean, the actress who plays Sara isn’t Nicholas Cage or anything, but she’s fine.

Primary complaints? Complaint, really. But it’s going to be an angry one. The goddamned soundtrack. Jesus would weep at this soundtrack, and then crucify himself in what would be a spectacularly failed attempt to redeem the movie.

Imagine this: you’re a very white-washed teen in rural U.S.A. You wear pink jeans and may never have had a decent hair cut in your entire life. Your friends are steps away from running the glee club. What’s your soundtrack? Angry rap? Oh, of course. This makes so much sense to just insert at every possible moment of character introduction to really give you a feel for the movie.

Other than that blip in an otherwise enjoyable film, it was fun. While in the realm of the standard Tales From the Crypt feeling (with a nod to Trick ‘r’ Treat with graphic novel-style transitions), it managed to exceed my expectations and actually provide decent entertainment where the only time I felt like smashing my laptop closed was when the torturous soundtrack flared up.

Check it out on Netflix on Demand if you want a short horror film to temporarily call your own. There’s tits and even a body double in a “goddamn, the director really wishes this was porn” shower scene.

This Geek in Netflix: Ils

by AllisonnnnnMarch 13, 2012

At the Silent House press conference a couple of weeks ago, its ladying lady, Elizabeth Olsen, mentioned her current favorite horror movie, a French flick called Ils. (Translation: take a goddamned French class, people! I can’t do all of your work for you.) With much curiosity, I queued it up and, days later, I’m still not quite sure how to feel about it.

They're probably watching The Orphanage. Or Bio-Dome.

There’s not a good deal to say on the film’s background. While there’s several reviews on IMDB and a middling score on Rotten Tomatoes, this movie doesn’t seem like it really entered the festival circuit or make much of an attempt (any attempt?) at the box office.

The actors are, as they tend to be in European movies, European and therefore foreign to ye old readership here at Geekscape. Not saying that you’re ignorant. Just saying that I’m ignorant and, so as not to feel so alone, projecting my ignorance onto you. It’s a bonding experience, really. Don’t you feel closer to me already?

American-centric knowledge-base-wise (I’m not sure how I feel about that phrasing. How do you feel about it? Comfortable?), the only real recognizable entities on this film are the directors (who also functioned as the writers), David Moreau and Xavier Palud, who directed the American version of The Eye (you know, that flick with Jennifer Lo–, er, Jessica Alba), which wasn’t that great.

She likes to hold her pillow and pretend it's Edward.

The movie starts off with the heading:

Snagov, Romania October 6, 2002 11:45p.m.

I like it when movies have a time-stamp. Makes me feel secure. Anyhow, after the time-stamp, we start with a mother and cunty daughter driving along a road at night, perfectly peaceful (oh, that’s a lie) until a strange goat-like shape darts in front of the car.

Okay, it wasn’t a goat. Could have been a person. Possibly both. A goat-person.

They go nose-first into some sort of pole, which somehow causes their radio to turn on and blast some annoying metal. When they try to re-start their car and leave, the engine won’t turn so the mother gets out, pops the hood, and fiddles with the engine.

Apparently there was a crossover with Sliders going on at the same time, as she was sucked into a portal. Or something. Basically, she vanishes, leaving her cunty daughter to plod around the car calling for her like a sad little sheep… until the bushes whisper a response.

She does the smart thing (hurrah!) and bolts into the car, rolls up the windows, locks the door, and discovers that the keys are gone. Someone outside beeps the car to unlock, so Cunty Dwarf grabs her cell phone and calls the police. Who put her on hold. And it starts raining.

Then the car explodes. It’s really tragic. The phone goes flying from the vehicle and the last thing that we see before we cut to the opening credits is a tiny hand wrapping around the phone as the police dispatcher finally picks up.

I might have made that all up. I’m kinda in a mood. A mood where I make things up. Or this may be made up. YOU’LL NEVER KNOW UNLESS YOU WATCH THE MOVIE! BWAHAHAHA!

Cut to the next day. We are introduced to Clementine, hottie French teacher, as she wraps up for the afternoon and begins her drive home, complete with sexy little phone call to her husband, Lucas, and rubbernecking at the abandoned vehicle last seen with Cunty Dwarf.

It's like Titanic, but with more stabbings.

After a few scenes of domestic bliss with her husband, Clementine curls up on the couch to go through her students’ work. However, before she gets too far in, the phone rings. The noises on the other end are indistinguishable.

At 3:45AM, she wakes up, hearing strange noises outside, and selfishly wakes her sleeping husband so they can check on the noises together as opposed to letting him continue to sleep like she would if she actually loved him. On my planet, that’s grounds for a divorce right there.

Anyhow, they manage to stumble their way downstairs to discover that Clementine’s car has been moved. See, that’s what kids do these days. Forget toilet papering, it’s all about car relocation.

Honey, I think those kids relocated our car again.

When Lucas goes to confront the car, it pulls a Herbie the Love Bug and drives off into the night. Being intelligent people that were clearly designed for an indie romance rather than a horror movie, they call the cops (which turn out to be useless) and decide to deal with it in the morning.

Then the lights go out.

Too much of a cliffhanger for you? Are your fingers tightly wrapped around the arms of your chair? Mine would be, but I’m in bed. And typing. I’m not the mutant with four arms that you think me to be.

Eventually, the monster is revealed (finally, a movie to break the recent streak of showing me the big bad by the three-minute mark!) and the audience is left to mull over, well, everything. This movie takes a very common beast, one that features in a surprising number of horror films, and puts a strong slant on it, forcing it at the viewer at a new angle that they didn’t necessarily expect.

She is about to find out what makes Jack a dull boy.

Monster-digestion aside, it’s a little hard for me to make fun of this movie. It’s not that it’s fantastic– it certainly doesn’t reach the level of The Orphanage, nor is it mediocre in such a way that causes a lack of commentary. It was just the right mix of story, isolation, and disturbing claustrophobic imagery that ultimately caused me a sort of unsettled discontent.

The “seven days…” call I received after viewing this film certainly didn’t help my comfort level, either.

So, if you want something that deviates from your standard horror plot and digs itself into your bones, not so much on a fear level as much as with actual horror (in the way that we no longer use that word), Ils might be for you. Just ignore the shitty video quality Netflix gives you with this one.

This Geek in Netflix: Ghosts of Goldfield

by AllisonnnnnMarch 6, 2012

Rarely do I get stir-crazy and bored while watching horror movies. There’s nearly always something redemptive about them, whether it be a great scene (Ghost Ship, I’m looking at you), a great soundtrack, or hysterically bad acting. Truly, I usually can find something to latch onto.

2007’s Ghosts of Goldfield is one of the few films that I gave up on trying to enjoy and instead embraced the boredom that comes with those few movies that aren’t good,but aren’t laughably shitty either.

This is just too easy. I'd feel guilty about taking advantage.

The acting wasn’t good, even though there’s a definite spread of talent. Our lead actress, Marnette Patterson, is a constant television actress with the standard extra roles on the even more standard host of shows. Our cliched “sexy chick”, Mandy Amano (who is quite attractive, I will say), has been in minor roles in movies such things as Coyote Ugly (one of my guilty pleasures) and Crank: High Voltage (less a guilty pleasure and more of a source of masturbation material). Really, though, the only actor of note (and the only one that can actually act) is Kellan Lutz.

You know, Kellan Lutz. Emmett Cullen from the Twilight series. Poseidon from Immortals. Kellan Lutz. Weird sorta blip there. Speaking of blips, let’s just go into the beginning of the movie summary with an awkward transition. Yay!

Kellan Lutz, god of wetness, god of moisture, and things that are wet.

The scene is set: a desert drive in a white SUV overlaid with the opening credits and pictures of old ghost towns. We hear the chatter of inane kids in their early twenties regarding their road trip to a haunted motel, where I pull the gem:

“Today we’re headin’ up to the famous Goldfield Hotel to see if we can find us some real live ghosts.”

If poor phrasing was a sin, this guy would be dead already.

Also! We get to see the ghost, prompting the following mid-movie-watching note:

Didn’t you guys learn anything from Muoi: The Legend of a Potrait? Jesus. Stop revealing the goddamned end boss 50 seconds into the movie. Who do I need to call to make this stop happening? SOMEONE, GET GEORGE ROMERO ON THE PHONE, STAT.

As we get some degree of introduction to the characters, we learn that the blonde is a psychology major, working on her thesis which, as far as I can tell, has absolutely nothing to do with psychology. Brunette is a red shirt, working on her five-finger discount and mad faux-lesbian skills. She’ll be the first to die, just before Mr. English-Ain’t-Mah-First-Language gets taken out by a rogue piece of rusty pipe. There are also three guys, but they’re indistinguishable from each other until about forty-five minutes in.

The car ride continues until the blonde falls asleep in the fading light and we get to flash-forward to the scene where one of the guys, a hipster-looking douchebag, gets killed. So not only is the monster being revealed again, so is one of the deaths.

Of course, I could see hipsters being knifed in the skull all day and not get sick of it, so it’s not such a bad thing. God, I hope we see it like eight more times.

Blonde also hears, “Come back to me…” as she wakes, whispered by the ghost. When she comes to, she’s clutching her necklace.

I brightened this picture and upped the contrast just for *you*.

Okay, how many people want to bet that by the end of this movie, everyone is dead but the blonde, who is not killed by the ghost because the ghost is actually her grandmother or great-grandmother who died while looking for her baby (who was kidnapped or whatever) who ended up being perfectly fine and starting a family of her own? WHO WANTS TO LAY SOME MONEY ON THE LINE?!

I’m at the 3 minute, 15 second mark of this movie, and if this doesn’t work out like I predicted, I’m going to punish myself by eating a chocolate chip cookie. If it does work out, I’m eating a chocolate chip cookie *and* making a booty call. (Post-movie update: I might have been wrong, but the theme was there. I’m still making that call.)

Around sunset, the car dies while taking a shortcut to the hotel. Bad dialogue ensues about why the car broke down but, really, the car was probably just rebelling against the douchey-est haircut known to man that the driver was sporting. If he let someone cut it to something that contained lesser levels of douchery, the car would start again.

BRB, going completely out of my established character.

After much whining, they start walking to the hotel. I can’t even speak to the line of “We’ve been walking so long, it’s dark already,” when they started walking at goddamned sunset. Someone punch the goddamned brunette for me. Just reach through the goddamned screen and just pop her one.

During their night wanderings, they find an old cemetary. Good for them. Anyhow, the little cunty brunette decides she doesn’t wanna go into the cemetery and you can’t make her, waaaah. Until, of course, the whispering starts. “Bloooody finger, bloooooody finnggerrrr!”

Sorry. Was re-living my campfire story days.

“Where’s my baby? Where’s my baaaabyyyyyy?” followed by, “Closer, my darling, closer.” Which was followed by a coyote howl. OF COURSE IT WAS.

"This place lacks room service. I'm giving it three stars on Yelp."

The blonde experiences double-vision and a sudden sepia-toned flashback where we get to witness some godawful dancing and the reveal that one hundred (or whatever) years ago, the blonde used to be a waitress in the bar where the ghost worked (while alive, you nitwits).

When she comes out of it, the brunette is racing towards her and one of the idiots… er, men… is missing. Mike. Whichever one that one was.

He ends up popping out from behind a grave, scaring everyone, and then announcing repeatedly that he “got” them all. You know, being an idiotic horror movie stereotype.

So, death order as stands is:

1. Cunty brunette who needs a good punching
2. Mike (may or may not have English issues)
3. Idiot with English issues (may or may not be Mike)

After their brush with stupidity, the five kids head into the suddenly located ghost town to hopefully suddenly locate the hotel.

Hotel = suddenly located! \o/

Let’s take a moment to note that this is supposed to be a ghost town, you know, one of those California/Nevada/Arizona towns that was all hustle and bustle while people were working towards their Manifest Destiny or mining the shit out of the mountains and then dried up for a variety of reasons, generally in the 1920s.

So please ignore the goddamned stop sign in front of the hotel. Oh, and the open bar across the street from the hotel. You know, in the town that one of the less mentally disabled kids said had no vistors aside from the occasional tourist.

After awkward and vaguely illogical conversation with the bartender and his lone patron, the Scooby gang gets a key to the abandoned (and fully furnished and clean) hotel, with instructions not to go into room 109. (Because you know those instructions’ll be followed.)

The bartender explains that George Winfield, Elizabeth’s boss and sex-patron, killed poor Elizabeth in room 109. During this story, the bartender gets incredibly, oddly emotional about Elizabeth and then, when asked if he somehow knew her (kids can’t do math), he explains that he’s seen paintings of her and basically put all of his sex drive into pastels and turned into a total dead-chick-stalking creep.

I may have elaborated on that last part.

The look of concern you're seeing is them watching the final cut of this film.

After story time is over, the kids walk over to the hotel, where the blonde has another sepia-toned flashback where she sees Elizabeth receive the gift of a necklace (Whaaat? Like the necklace the blonde was playing with at the beginning of the film? SHOCKING.) from her beau “for the baby”.

Back in modern day, the cunty brunette steals the hotel desk’s bell while the idiot who likes to scare people scares people again and then busts out the alcohol.

It’s almost like they want to die.

The next hour of this movie is spent with them roaming around multiple locations cobbled together to represent a hotel that is mostly birthed from locations that were clearly not built in the early 1900s. From fire sprinklers to uniform gray carpeting to flouresent lights to modern plumbing, the hotel fails to provide any atmosphere except for the sad sort of desperate amusement one gets when visiting one of those truck stops/mini-casinos that dot the highways in Nevada.

Topless and inebriated-- just like I like them.

What are they doing while roaming? Fuck if I know. There seems to be an overarching plot… kinda. I mean, it’s mostly there. And then there’s all these little potential side plots that amount to nothing and then there’s just severe amounts of minor plot inconsistencies that make the whole thing rather shaky, and I’m not sure if I should blame those issues on the screenwriter or the editor.

In sum: Editing fail. Script fail. Character fail. Plot fail. Location fail. Fail fail. (Or would that be “success fail”? I just wanted to write “fail fail”. Seemed like a good idea.)

I don’t suggest queuing this up on your Netflix. It’s simply not worth it. I can’t even design a drinking game around this, other than “drink every time Kellan Lutz is hot”, which is a totally gimme.

Until next week, kids.

This Geek in Netflix: We Are the Night

by AllisonnnnnMarch 2, 2012

I know some of you may have been panicking at the absence of my typical Wednesday article and I would like to let you know that I appreciate your concern and apologize. You see, when a woman likes a man (or men), she loses track of time and gains a certain… bodily soreness which results in delayed reviews.

In 2010, things happened. The Berlin Wall fell. Pearl Harbor was bombed. Napoleon was exiled to Saint Helena and two Valley kids retrieved him before becoming the biggest band to grace Earth’s history: Wyld Stallyns. Somewhere in all this uproar, a German film titled We Are the Night was released.

Much (exactly) like with other European films I’ve reviewed, no one is actually going to know who any of the actors are and, continuing with my belief that Europeans have no true emotions, we’re going to skip this section.

Pout about it, why don't you? We know you're faking.

Actually, I’m going to lie about the actors. That seems even better.

Dick “fucking” Van Dyke plays the lead female bloodsucker, Louise. You may know Dick “fucking” Van Dyke from movies such as How I Married a Machete Murderer (the hapless Arlo) and I Know What you Did Six Summers Ago in Band Camp (Yvette’s cuckold, Gregory). We also have Macauly Culkin as Lena, Gabriel Byrnes as Charlotte, and Cillian “Oh My God, Take Me Now, You Creepy Blue-eyed Man” Murphy as Nora. If you watch carefully, you might notice a few cameos from people such as Ian McKellan and Colin Firth.

So it’s a pretty star-studded(ish) cast that you won’t want to miss. Ever. Just watch this movie on repeat and bask in its golden light, but don’t forget to turn over half-way through, as we don’t want you getting skin cancer.

It's hard to believe he played Scarecrow. He's got such range.

Before I launch into the summary of the start of this movie (which I am now beginning to question as a good format for a review), I have to really address what I feel is a truly important topic in regards to this film.

“We Are the Night“? What does that even mean, really? Are they personifying the night, as I’ve always imagined a personified night to be more along the lines of a Greek goddess or something. Flowly dark robes, glitter in their hair, prone to family in-fighting.

You know what? Fuck this “we are the night” spooky bullshit. How goth do they need to sound, anyway? How about “We are three vampire bitches in Europe”?

GET OVER YO’SELFS, GOTH SUBCULTURE.

Quick summary of this film: crazy blonde lesbian vampire is focused on the idea of finding her soulmate and then never, ever, ever, EVER letting her go. No matter what. Even if she wants to leave. Kill her, cut off her limbs, bronze said limbs, make them into some sort of surrealist art on wheels that she would drag behind her for the rest of her life.

In sum: a typical lesbian relationship.

Caption screened so as to avoid hatemail.

I know that I now have at least five friends who are planning on punching me for the above statement the next time I see them. For the moment, I will wave at you across the internet and remind you that you can’t reach me from where you are now, and you’ll likely forget to inflict pain on me by the next time we meet.

With this crazy blonde we get sidekicks in the form of an adorable quirky sometimes-redhead and a sultry brunette that managed to keep my attention the entire movie. We also have the strawberry blonde love interest.

I keep trying to order her from the catalog, but she never arrives.

You might be wondering why I’m not calling these characters by their names. I’m wondering too.

There is one other character: the male lead and love interest to Miss Strawberry Blonde 2010. He’s a cop, and, to my mind, is way too young and attractive to be a cop. Well, at least an American cop. If all cops in France look like this dude, send me over. I’ll bring my own handcuffs.

He's not really my type but, you know... handcuffs.

Continuing with this hair-identified plot, we’ve got these five characters, three of which are of The Undead, one of which looks like death, and another which is there solely to be a plot device.

Simply: brunette is miserable, redhead is everything you’d expect from a hyperactive anime character, blonde is nuts and obsessive, strawberry blonde is smarter than most give her credit for, and blond is a cop that barely features but has impact on the story.

Does that make sense? No?

Okay, let’s sell you on this movie. The strawberry blonde goes exploring one night and sees two dudes climb through a hole in a fence. She follows them into DINOSAUR LAND!!!

Dinosaur Land disappointingly turns out not to be a land of dinosaurs at all, but an underground club full of incredibly hot people in skimpy outfits. Totally fucking lame and lacking in its possibly reptilian, possibly avian content.

While at the lame club, that blonde vampiress sees the strawberry blonde’s tendency towards pick-pocket activities and strategically places some cash in eyesight and then does the “come hither, Imma lesbian with money” dance at her, which looks creepily like a seizure, but with more oral sex.

The strawberry blonde, being young and naive, takes the bait. Eventually winds up a vampire. (Serious side note: the transformation scene for this is one the best I’ve ever seen in the category of “beautiful turning into a vampire scenes”.)

Not Dinosaur Land, but a suitable alternative.

Being a vampire movie, the strawberry blonde isn’t exactly happy with this transformation, though she tries to hide it. Wants her human life back. Cries a lot. Blames Lestat for turning her. Changes Kirsten Dunst into a vampire, leaves the swamps of New Orleans, has dirty sex with Christian Slater. Dirty, dirty sex.

Shit, that was the summary of my latest fan-fic! Now the plot is spoiled!!

My grief at spoiling my upcoming novel aside, this movie goes exactly to where you think it will. However, while there’s more than a couple cliches come with the expected plot that are scattered through it’s scenes, the film itself done with a bit more pizzazz than we (I) have come to expect from the genre.

I actually enjoyed it (after the rough beginning, which was totally overdone), as it was something fun. The photography, while not amazing and epic, had more than one typically sees in a horror movie, which I have to appreciate, especially now with the nausea-inducing found-footage trend.

This movie does come with a warning, I will be honest. While there are lesbians, there’s no lesbian sex. I can’t actually remember seeing a single bare breast (not that I was manning the TitWatch 2012 campaign or anything). But there’s some dude junk, if you have a fear of dude junk.

Fears dude junk. (For which I am so, so glad. So. Glad.)

So, if you want to watch a movie that hits all the vampire cliches we’ve grown to expect (and if you can overcome your horror of dude junk), this is the film for you. Just ignore the incredibly shit dubbing and fire up Netflix.

This Geek in Netflix: Death of a Ghost Hunter

by AllisonnnnnFebruary 21, 2012

I’ve been tapering off on my enjoyment of found footage videos. I was never that impressed with The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity 3 really fell flat. I’m over it, you know?

That bitching, fortunately, has little to do with the 2007 film, Death of a Ghost Hunter. I just felt like starting this article with a complaint. A second complaint? Why the hell is my neighbor’s fire alarm going off? Take out the damn battery already!

Death of a Ghost Hunter was this little movie made by another one of those incestuous bubbles of people that seem to form in the film business. This particular bubbly set circles around such titles as: The Frankenstein Syndrome, The Great American Snuff Film, and The Greatest American Snuff Film. (I think those last two might be related.)

I thought I'd open with a nice ass-shot. Because I'm tasteless.

The actors in it are unmentionable at the moment– no one that anyone would recognize unless they’re somehow obsessed with the great or the greatest american fictional snuff films, so instead I’m going to take this time to thank my neighbor for finally removing his smoke detector’s battery. Thank y– fuck. False alarm. (Har.)

Away from that high-pitched beeping and into the film, Death of a Ghost Hunter opens as being based on true events. The highly broken up opening crawl reads:

In 1982, Minister Joseph Masterson and his family were murdered inside their home.

(insert crazy footage here of slaughter involving a Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick)

“Ghost Hunting” is the process in which paranormal investigators use modern technology to obtain tangible evidence regarding the existence of life after death.

In 2002, renowned ghost hunter Carter Simms, was offered $5,000 to perform a paranormal investigation on the Masterson House.

Her investigation stands as the single most tragic paranormal inquiry in American history.

It ended with her death.

This film is based on the journal entries she made during her investigation.

When I first started watching this movie, I assumed that there was some basis of fact that inspired a weird story. That was quickly dashed when I saw the name “Carter Simms”. No one names their little girl “Carter Simms”. (Found-footage screenwriters take note: don’t do shit like this.)

Ghost Hunter Detective Alucard Phantom Carter Simms-Holmes.

During the whole textual introduction, we get to watch Ms. Simms drive out to Arizona, engage with one of the remaining Mastersons, all while doing the most unbelieveable, “I’m-reading-this-from-a-script”, voice-over I may have ever heard.

From the incredibly shoddy voice over, we learn that, after witnessing an unexplainable event, Seth Masterson has not only hired Carter to examine the house, but also has brought on a journalist and a video technician to record her experiences. Carter isn’t happy about the potential interference, but she accepts that he is the client and he is going to be
paying her a chunk of money for three days of work.

The next day, Carter goes into the house and begins to walk through the place. While exploring she (and us, of course) gets the crap scared out of her by the tactless and slightly nerdy video technician, Colin. Shortly after, sassy and street-wise Yvette shows up on the scene, waggling her finger. (Being sassy and street-wise means she’s going to die first, by the way.)

You would think, much like Carter did, that we’d have our whole crew for the movie by this point but, much like Carter, you’d be wrong. The waif-like Mary Young knocks on the door and introduces herself as the spiritual advocate for the Masterson family, there to stand guard on their reputation as good Christians.

This is the part where I’d pull out some sort of weapon and bean her in the skull simply for being creepy, but no one in the movie seems to have my epic foresight.

After (poorly acted) introductions are made, our four-person crew starts their sleep-over party with Carter “Mood-Killer” Simms recounting the details of the Masterson murders from the police report and uncomfortably segues into Colin recording Carter as she wanders around the house attempting to take temperature readings.

When they arrive in the master bedroom, where Mr. Masterson had his throat slit, the temperature suddenly drops and everyone panics and bolts back to Command Center (AKA: the dining room) where, eventually, one of the chairs moves (making everyone panic again).

Two more nights with increasing paranormal activity (har har) take place and result in the culmination of this movie… which I rather enjoyed.

Parts of this movie actually surprised me, as it strayed just far enough from the usual formulaic presentation that we’ve all gotten so used to. I will admit that, about ten minutes in, I was about to switch movies. I didn’t want to watch a bunch of poorly acted crap. But I stayed with it and, yes, while the acting occasionally knocked me out of the movie, I’m
glad I stuck around.

Do I think it could have been done better, with a bigger budget and better actors? Yes, of course it could– and it would have been amazing. But the people who helped put this movie together and, yes, after a very shaky start created something pretty damn neat.

I definitely suggest putting this movie in your Netflix Instant Queue for future scary-movie-night viewing– just be prepared to wade through the first ten minutes. Also, neighbor, thanks for finally taking care of your wailing smoke detector. I’m now less likely to make attempts on your life.