329 - The Ruins review

It’s hard to believe that “The Ruins” was transferred from novel to screenplay form by Scott Smith. I say this because Scott Smith also wrote the 2006 novel, but the film feels like it was channeled through the lens of a different writer, one with a severely dissimilar vision of what chills and what thrills.

Pic begins in Cancún, where a group of twenty-somethings enjoy the sun and promiscuity. Things turn a bit sour when they travel to an unmapped Mayan pyramid; upon arrival, a group of angry locals shows up to riddle one of them with arrows and drive the rest to the top of the structure. Ever notice how horror films that take place outside of America often seem like feature-length ads produced by competing tourist destinations?

The cause for this quarantine quickly becomes clear when the vines that cover the pyramid begin snatching up their body parts, crawling around in their skin, verbally taunting them, and other things we’re not used to seeing plant life doing. So terrible are these plants that the locals immediately gun down one of their own children after he barely touches a patch.

Though there’s much potential for both drama and horror here, the film ignores the former and focuses on the latter. The characters simply float from one situation to another, heading into various nightmares as if they knew the script and felt obligated to walk through the motions. The events and discussions are plopped so gracelessly into the audience’s lap that the film feels like a summary of itself: tourists go here, do this, get brutalized by that, and then the film ends.

The filmmaker’s emphasis on gore might make business sense, but is a staggering miscalculation for the art. Where the book’s tension stems from the bitter internal conflicts within the group, the film’s comes primarily from scenes where a hunting knife becomes the sole surgical instrument for amputations and removing plants buried in human flesh. If these sequences don’t make you wince, then I’d hate to think of what would, but these visceral moments are cheap stomach-churners compared to the potential wealth of terror that could be extracted from scenarios where characters turn their insecurities and worst fears on one another.

Without a reason to care about these people on screen, we’re just watching them suffer, and in the process, so do we, though at least we get to keep our limbs.

2 out of 5

328 - Drillbit Taylor review

Drillbit Tayor is a U.S. army deserter who lives in the bushes next to a California beach. I guess John Edwards was right about those homeless vets, but not in the way he intended to be.

Drillbit is played by Owen Wilson, which likely makes him the most carefree non-crazy homeless person in the history of cinema. Come to think of it, for a guy the film finds charming and resourceful, Drillbit’s daily nude shower on the beach makes the film wheeze for air before the opening credits have concluded. Stretch sitcom gimmicks too far, and it’s difficult to laugh. Allow me to supply a better sitcom cliché: Drillbit should be fired from a menial job at the start of the film and retreat to his rat’s nest apartment, where he finds his exasperated girlfriend throwing his stuff out the window. Better, but then again I’m not being paid to write crappy PG-13 comedies, just okay movie reviews.

While surfing the web on a stranger’s laptop, Drillbit stumbles across an ad for a bodyguard. He meets Wade (Nate Hartley) and Ryan (Troy Gentile), two dweeb freshmen getting brutalized by school bullies. When asked about his credentials, Drillbit claims “I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate.” If these kids were fans of “Blade Runner,” they’d recognize this as part of one of the most beautiful moments in cinematic history and tell this clown to get lost. Oh wait, it turns out they are “Blade Runner” fans, but they hire him anyway.

Viewers of “Drillbit Taylor” will come to expect this sort of flippant writing through the course of the film, which spurns anything that so much as resembles continuity, a theme, or realism. The shoddiness of the affair is often difficult to watch, the need for rewriters so obvious that it’s startling the film was shot in the first place.

Consider the 14-year-old protagonists and their mysterious knowledge of pop culture in which their writers lived but they didn’t. Or the savagery of the bullies, who commit so many felonies that I regretted using up that gimmick when I listed off unpunished crimes in my “Charlie Bartlett” review. These bullies don’t just call their victims names, but they pummel them, try to run them down with their car, and menace them with swords. Mix bullies a quarter this bad with evil losers, and you get Columbine-style shootings.

Drillbit doesn’t do much to help these pathetic creatures, spending most of his time stealing their stuff and practicing coitus with the hot English teacher (Leslie Mann, who had an ill-fated date with Wilson in “The Cable Guy”). With bodyguards like these, who needs bullies?

The film is saved from a 0 star rating solely by Wilson’s slacker charm, which even this mess can’t dilute. His “aww-shucks” appeal is significant and works well in both drama and comedy, though it’s too bad that the guy has to headline garbage like this to make the Maserati payments. No wonder he’s so depressed.

To the film’s credit, there is one pricelessly funny joke. You’ll know it when you see it. On second thought, don’t see it.

1 out of 5

327

Sorry about the lack of updates. I have a whole slew of reviews plus another meme that I'll post in the next few days!