⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Long Island (the home of my favorite cannibal massacre) plays host to a new scourge as SOV hijinks plague the place. A masked slasher with a nasty hand weapon is building a body count and delightful CJ Wyatt is somehow at the center of things. Why? Well, I know it may feel like you’re in the early nineties but this is actually pretty new so I will let you find out the exact details. Just know CJ’s friends are dropping and in between the tough bestie, the pube-stache’d annoyance, the silent angsty guy who shares a fresh trauma with our hero and the visiting buddy from Washington, our victims-to-be are treading familiar ground in the character department. No, that’s not an issue. Like Blood Red River Bed, Screamwalkers not only knows its inspirations but respects them enough not to become a dull inside joke. It plays it straight… well, as straight as a tight-budget SOV slasher flick can be. Again, that’s not an issue. Strained melodrama blends well with corny hijinks while the splatter mentality chips away at the cast, all filmed through the washed-out eye of a video camera that’s seen better days. Problematic for a mainstream release but perfect for someone who would much rather watch Blood Cult than whichever Terrifier sequel they’re on. An ancient Egyptian studies class taught by the wonderful Sasha Graham introduces a mummy into the fucking thing and throws some supernatural bullshit (much-welcomed) into the proceedings. A dirt-cheap mask (like Ghostface but a cat), early video effects provided by your older brother’s computer, a no-nonsense detective as stiff as his line delivery (possibly my favorite character), public location shooting, community college set design and a sense of humor that understands the source so it never feels insulting make for an easy hour of comfort food. Andy Rowell brings the Polonia Powa and I am now a devotee. The same goes for most of the cast and writer/director Sean Q King.
No comments:
Post a Comment