Hey, wanna know when you’re officially creatively bankrupt? Howzabout when you remake a film that’s already been poorly remade? How does that sit with ya, mate?
So, back in the ’70s, a little flick called Black Christmas came out. Though often credited to Halloween, Black Christmas is a more proper candidate for being the first true slasher flick. (It’s important to note, though, that Halloween would essentially establish the main tropes of the genre and kickstart the wave of slashers that would quickly inundate the ’80s.) It’s not a bad movie, really, not quite my cup o’ tea, but it’s a solid enough slasher. About thirty years later, the film would find itself remade, given a shiny new aesthetic and a hot, young cast. Unfortunately, this film would run into some controversy, having to bow to studio (read: Weinstein) interference and including some enticing footage in the trailer that was never meant to make the final cut. Neither film is a masterpiece by any stretch, but they each have their own qualities.
So, yeah, why the hell not remake the damn thing again?
Just as before, the film tells the tale of a cadre of sorority sisters mostly alone in their house during a winter break, only to find themselves being cut down by a mysterious killer. We’ve got a couple twists here, though, as our main protagonist is carrying around some trauma from a previous frat house rape incident, and there’s the distinctive air of woke-ness throughout the proceedings as toxic masculinity and rape culture find themselves the target of some much-needed criticism.
If I were being charitable, the film itself is a massive satirical skewering of the stifling rape culture that pervades American campuses these days. Stick with me here: The lead is led to stand up to her rapist and his cohorts; in return, these frat boys take their revenge on these uppity women and cut them down for not submitting to the obviously superior male power. The offending frat is the university’s founder’s house, symbolic of the patriarchal stranglehold placed upon the nation by even her own high-minded fathers. The nigh-cult-like devotion of the frat brothers to their cause and the (*SPOILERS*) literally supernatural nature of their male-centric power stands in for the desperate coordination with which fragile men try to cling to their collective pride and institutions.
That’s if I were being charitable. I have no doubt in my mind that the filmmakers, at least at some point, had as their goal the communication of such messages. Or, on the other hand, maybe they’re hacks who tried to put some “woke” substance into their garbage slasher flick in hopes of winning some brownie points somewhere down the line. No, this is absolute trash. Once again, a slasher is bent against its will to conform to a PG-13 rating, making all of the deaths strangely bloodless, both in terms of makeup effects and the editing, which does its damnedest to eschew any direct, messy contact between flesh and weapon. The acting is mostly par at best, with quite a few examples of either phoning things in or comically overdoing it (sorry, Cary Elwes, but we both know you can do better than this), the plot is often moved forward because of stupid decisions, and there’s nothing of note to the cinematography or the music. Like most Blumhouse films, there are some cheap jump scares, but quite a few are half-assed half-jumps, merely a sharp sonic sting away from a full jump. And the climax is so poorly-staged, poorly-edited, and overly convenient that it comes off as one of the worst such scenes I’ve seen in a long while (at least among those that are actually trying to do or say something with their climaxes).
And then there’s the so-called “feminist” stuff. To begin with, there is a decent amount of toxic feminist behavior, with supposed friends pushing their clearly traumatized sisters into obvious trigger-laden situations and allegations of weakness when others won’t “fight” properly. That’s a fucking yikes from me, dawg. Then there’s the patriarchy “symbolism”. It almost worked, came kinda close, but the ham-fisted delivery, the ludicrous supernatural elements, the awful writing (near the end, there’s a lascivious read of the line “Your body, your choice” that turned my stomach with its shittiness), and the ultimate pay-off all undermine any possibility of taking the “satire” seriously. It’s shocking to me that the film’s director and writers are women, ’cause everything feels like some out-of-touch dudes trying to be hip with the kids and such. I’ll admit that this perspective is coming from a particularly male bias, regardless of side beliefs held, but it sure as hell feels like things are just being handled poorly.
Maybe the damn franchise is cursed or something, I dunno, but as the remakes keep coming, they’re getting increasingly worse. Everyone should be ashamed of themselves here for trivializing the subjects raised in the script, and, yeah, that’s what it is when the material is handled so terribly. There was an outside shot of this new take working, but the execution leaves so much to be desired that failure was the only endgame to hope for. Skip it, kids, there’s better out there: If nothing else, the original ’70s version is the best movie bearing its title, even though its flaws are apparent from even the first scene. Still better than this one, dammit.
Allusions of Grandeur 