A young couple close on a new home away from the hustle and bustle of city living. Unfortunately for them, this is Florida and unless you’ve set up some time in Disney World, you just can’t escape awful. Ya see, the neighboring property was once the location of a boarding school where a vicious massacre played out. The now crumbling property is still inhabited by the sole survivor of said massacre with the intention of just being left alone. Hugh invites their friends over to check out their new digs (Laurie ain’t all that happy about it because they just moved the fuck in and I feel nothing but sympathy for her because her boyfriend seems like a real fucking tool) and party, their awful/annoying friends decide to explore the creepy ruins next door, destroying a bunch of shit there in the process. One of them even pisses in the corner of the house because it’s Florida and these are the people who inhabit it. This vandalism and disregard of property draws the unwanted attention of the very unstable psychopath haunting the place. The titular lunatic brings some swift and fatal violence to the intruders and the young couple’s plans of a peaceful future crumbles under the realization that nobody may be making it out alive. I dig the Blood Widow’s simple look of unemotional white mask and BDSM leather mommy ensemble… it works for an efficient and emotionally troubled murder machine. The unlikable losers that stand as victims-to-be are a pleasure to watch get slaughtered. These are some truly inconsiderate pieces of cannon fodder and I am more than pleased to bid them good riddance. Seriously, when the hippie chick is the most likable person in your clique, you’ve done something very wrong. Of course, she goes off to investigate the decrepit house on her lonesome during the night and dies first… if you don’t count the pre-credits dude who somehow looks like a child and a forty-year-old man at the same time. Hugh blows at every aspect of being a human and a significant other. God, he needs to die. Cheap splat, some indecipherable night shooting, convenient journaling and some truly deplorable humanity helps this feel like it would have sat comfortably shot on video more than a decade earlier. It’s all very Florida in presentation and attitude and I will fault it for that because fuck Florida but still begrudgingly shrug it off because it’s the same place that gave us William Grefé and I’ll always appreciate that. Thanks, Florida… I guess.
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