About the only thing The Roost has going for it are its wraparound segments, aping the old-school horror-host TV showcases of yesteryear — in this case, the fictional Frightmare Theatre!, a black-and-white affair with the great Tom Noonan as our guide. He knocks the film that will follow, calling it “truly wretched” and getting in a pun or two as he teases that it is “hot on the entrails of four young people on their way to a wedding.”
Cut to The Roost — in color, but über-grainy — with said four young people exhibiting zero personality while driving through rural roads at night. Crossing a bridge, the car’s front windshield comes glass-to-face with a bat, causing them to veer off the road. They go off to find help, but just find more and more bats.
Yep, bats. Have such things ever been frightening on film? That was meant as rhetorical, but no, they haven’t, not in 1979’s Nightwing, and certainly not in 1997’s Bats, in which Lou Diamond Phillips looked forever constipated. But scariness — or lack of — is not The Roost‘s real issue; slowness is. It’s the deathly pace that kills it.
Even at only 80 minutes, the movie drags. Had writer/director Ti West (who reunited with Noonan to great effect in 2009’s creepy The House of the Devil) broken up his thin story with more bits from the horror host, rather than just having him bookend the thing, The Roost could rustle up some enthusiasm among viewers. A giant in indie horror, West wields considerable talent — just not here in this, his first feature. —Rod Lott
I tried twice to watch this film, and both times I Fell asleep. It that boring.
I failed to finish it as well. I bought it which makes me try harder to at least watch it all. Nope.
I glad it wasn’t just me. I loved West’s House of the Devil, so I bought this blind.