I truly liked the 1989 adaptation of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, not to mention the rocking theme song by the Ramones. And I kinda liked the 1992 sequel, even if it shouldn’t have been made, but I dug its early ’90s atmosphere, even it if was a broken fog machine with too much dry ice. I was not enthused by the 2019 remake, with good reason: It was a broad, cynical movie that played like I was trapped in a Spirit Halloween shop on the grounds of an abandoned CVS drugstore. Spooky!
And, in the undead spirit of nonliterary gravedigging, the new prequel, Pet Sematary: Bloodlines, is more of the rotting same, with 50% more David Duchovny. Thank you? (It’s presented by the Paramount Players, a production company which sounds like an ensemble cast of stage and screen actors brought to you by the DuMont Television Network, but not as sociable or talented. Discuss…)
Set in 1969, the film follows Jud Crandall (originally played by Fred Gwynne, then John Lithgow, but here essayed by Jackson White with no Maine accent) and his girlfriend as they leave town to join the Peace Corps. That seems like a good deal until a bird flies into their car window — and, into the front, a growling, disheveled dog on the road.
Taking the dog to his former friend’s house who just came back from the war, where, apparently, a Miꞌkmaq demon possesses you and turns you into a clinically depressed jerk with a chronically bad attitude. Following a pro-war speech, the dog mauls the girlfriend furiously, or as much as the budget will allow.
Meanwhile, Jud’s friend Manny (Forrest Goodluck) — here they insert some Indigenous teachings that are half-baked, for the most part — finds his sister murdered, then resurrected, albeit zombified. In a series of flashbacks, we learn it’s due to an ancient curse. You should know the one.
Either way, the last 15 minutes are so badly, lit I couldn’t tell what was happening. Sometimes, dead is better than an unlit film, even if it premieres on a streaming service?
Sure, it seems like these movies are part of some Injun sideshow, featuring stereotypical use of the Indigenous tribe; once again, the Miꞌkmaq tribe and their stories are used in a degrading way. But what about how Samantha Mathis, who I thought had been dead for years, is wasted in a nearly wordless role.
Sometimes, with Bloodlines … ah, never mind. —Louis Fowler