A Thomas Bess review of:
Directed By: Steven R. Monroe
Starring: Sarah Butler, Jeff Branson, Andrew Howard, Daniel Franzese, Rodney Eastman, Chad Lindberg
Running Time: 107 minutes, 20 or so of which involve nothing but rape.
I Spit On Your Grave. Is there a better title for a horror movie? Or perhaps I should ask, is there any better formula for creating evocative titles? Think about it. Take the “I (verb) on your (noun)” formula and see what sort of fun you can have. Some of my personal favorites include “I pee on your carport”, (and yes, that’s carport, not carpet, though that’s not without merit) “I hurl on your hammock” and “I feast on your terrier”. Honorable mentions go to “I shoot your face” and “I shoot your face again”, even though they don’t strictly adhere to what I will now refer to as the “On Your” formula of title creation. Back to the flick at hand. What we’ve got here is a remake of the 70’s exploitation classic and while I’d wager it won’t pack the same sort of startling punch for folks who’ve seen the original, it’s still a well crafted shocker that’s home to one of the most intense / prolonged scenes of rape and degradation I’ve ever seen. I mean, I thought the sequence in the new Last House on the Left was rough, but ISOYG leaves it in the rearview. And while it’s hard to say you actually enjoyed a film with such disturbing content, there’s enough good therein to give it an endorsement to those who think they’re up for the challenge.
The Plot
For those of you unfamiliar with the plot, here’s a synopsis presented in a catchy, non-haiku format. Jennifer Hills (Butler) is a writer from the city who’s rented a nice cabin out in the country so she’ll have a quiet place to relax while finishing her latest project. En route to said cabin, she stops at a nearby gas station and runs afoul of some local goons, (Franzese, Eastman) lead by Johnny (Branson). Brushing them off with far more grace and civility than they deserve, she heads out to the cabin and settles in for some R&R. Meanwhile, the yahoos from the gas station, simmering over “the city chick” on their turf, start plotting and before you can say home invasion they’ve busted into Jennifer’s digs. Cue some very unpleasant behavior and ethically questionable involvement from local law enforcement. After barely escaping her suddenly lackadaisical captors, our traumatized heroine flees into the woods and proceeds to vanish for most of the second act so the jerks can stew about what they’ve done. Eventually watching and waiting proves too passive, so she emerges from the forest primeval and proceeds to dispatch her assailants with a series of simple, yet brutally creative deathtraps, one of which will make you walk funny just looking at it.
The Good
What’s good? Sarah Butler’s turn as Jennifer is excellent, which is itself another good thing considering that the whole story would’ve fallen apart if the audience didn’t empathize with her plight. But that’s never an issue here as Butler runs her heroine through a whole range of mental states, starting with meek, then moving to terrified but defiant before finishing up as chillingly vengeful. The antagonists are a pretty solid group too, with special mention going out to Andrew Howard as the reprehensible sheriff and Chad Lindberg as the poor slow fella who gets pulled into the maelstrom despite his best efforts. The means by which Jennifer takes her revenge are for the most part pretty neat, bringing to mind the “games” in the first installment of SAW. (You know, the ones that could be set up by one person and not a whole team of Disney Imagineers.) To actually describe them would be too spoiler-tastic for my tastes, but let’s just say that you’ll never look at shears or fishhooks the same way again. As for the gore inflicted by these creations, the camera doesn’t linger quite as long as you might expect, but rest assured there is plenty of grue and splatter to satisfy your craving for the red stuff.
The Not So Good
So what’s not good? My biggest problems lie with the character of Jennifer (not Butler’s performance) but a few things we as an audience are expected to believe. In the beginning for example, she’s obviously someone who is not uncomfortable in the woods, but very much out of her element (the wind in the trees and a banging shed door seem to give her the willies). Thusly it’s hard to swallow that an urbanite, (one dealing with the aftereffects of a brutal sexual assault no less) would be able to survive in the woods for a month, let alone elude the local creeps searching for her. Along similar lines, while I have no problem imagining that she could rig these traps up by herself, how the hell did she stumble upon the knowledge to build them? Methinks a great solution to this problem would’ve been to reveal that Miz. Hills was the creator of some lurid pulp horror series, one that required research into death traps and all sorts of other terrible arcana. Even a glimpse of such a book in her possession (or better yet, her attackers discover it and start to worry) would’ve been more logical than the other idea presented, namely that being gang-raped and left for dead can turn you into Rambo.
Should You See It?
Should you see it? Well it’s not going to be for everyone, that’s for sure. The end of the first act alone will turn a lot of stomachs and the carnage in the finale isn’t exactly a bundle of sweetness and light either. If you’re in the mood for a good revenge flick and can handle the brutality, this is one you shouldn’t pass by, or spit on for that matter. That said, if you’re going to watch it with a group, make absolutely certain you let them know what they’re getting into, otherwise you may find yourself short a few friends before the night is over. Oh and though horror can lead to snuggling if your significant other is rather jumpy, this is probably one best avoided on date night.
The Verdict
Since I couldn’t think of anything even remotely appropriate to use as a scale, I’m going to take the easy way out and give I Spit On Your Grave four murdered sleazebags out of five.
Until next time, always remember that the calls are coming from inside the house.
Tom Bess recently shaved his legendary sideburns at a cost of two hours and five pounds. The end result is a slightly puffier, but much more aerodynamic movie-reviewing machine who is still patiently waiting for Allison Mack to return his calls. While he’s waiting, he’ll read copious amounts of Lovecraft and eat too many Peach Gummy Bears.
