Can you guess what movie or TV show we’re watching? We’ve turned on subtitles not to give you a clue, but to enhance that WTF effect! Leave your best guess in the comments to prove your true Flick Attackosity!
All posts by Rod Lott
P2 (2007)
Haven’t seen P1? Me neither, but it’s not required to get right into P2, a somewhat-around-average thriller, written and produced — yet oddly not directed — by Splat Pack member Alexandre Aja (High Tension, The Hills Have Eyes, Mirrors, Piranha 3D).
Rachel Nichols (G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra) unconvincingly plays a ballsy businesswoman whose Christmas Eve plans get ruined when she’s held hostage in her office building’s multilevel parking lot by obsessed attendant Tom (Wes Bentley, American Beauty). When her car won’t start, he “helps” her, starting with knocking her out with a good-ol’-fashioned rag o’ ether.
When Angela comes to, she’s been changed into a white party dress from which her ample breasts struggle to escape, and I’d be lying if I said this decision didn’t hold my attention for the remainder of an otherwise routine film. You’ve seen it before: Weird Guy menaces Hot Girl, Weird Guy kills innocents who wander in, then Hot Girl and Her Talented Boobs finally decide to fight back. What took you so long, Ang? Waiting for that nail to break?
What you might not have seen is how gruesomely the psychotic Tom dispatches one of those innocents. Just watch for the car-vs.-office-chair scene and prepare to wince. Bentley’s career may be like this film’s setting — in the basement — and should be for his Elvis impression, but Nichols’ is on the rise. And no wonder: She’s hot. P2? More like 34C. Zing! —Rod Lott
Labyrinth of Death (1988)
Part of Ground Zero Entertainment’s gray-market Black Belt Theatre budget-DVD line, Labyrinth of Death (aka Chess Boxing Matrix) is one of those logic-free, crazy Asian — or “crAsian,” as I now like to call them — movies where you understand so little (even with subtitles) that you can barely remember anything scene to scene.
Here’s what I remember:
• A hopping vampire kid.
• DragonBall-style special effects.
• Guys with painted faces.
• Jack and Mark Long presumably doing “chess boxing.”
• The hopping vampire kid peeing in one of the Long brothers’ mouths.
• The hopping vampire kid farting in the face of the other one.
• Some freaky, runty dragon monster.
• Absolutely no labyrinth, of death or of otherwise.
• Being thankful when it was over. —Rod Lott
Mirrors 2 (2010)
Honestly, I’m cool with direct-to-video horror sequels. What they lack in big-name stars, they make up for in gore. See Wrong Turn 3, 30 Days of Night: Dark Days and, now, Mirrors 2.
Looking like Dexter‘s little brother, Nick Stahl plays Max, still grieving over the car-crash death of his fiancé. His dad (William Katt) hires him to be the night watchman of his soon-to-open upscale department store. He’ll be replacing the one whose mirror image happily chewed broken glass, causing his own face and mouth to be cut up.
And so it goes that upper management get killed as they watch their mirror images do gruesome things, such as slicing their own tendons. The best death scene comes when Christy Romano (formerly Disney’s squeaky-clean Kim Possible) meets a really bloody death in the shower after soaping up her new, ugly fake boobs.
While the first half plays like Final Destination in the creative deaths department, the second finds Max and second-half love interest Emmanuelle Vaugiér attempting to solve the riddle behind these gruesome shenanigans. Maybe it makes more sense if you’ve seen the first Mirrors; I haven’t. As director, DTV vet Victor García (Return to House on Haunted Hill) brings visual class to these proceedings, yielding a satisfying fright flick, even if it’s completely void of frights (Katt’s middle-age ponytail notwithstanding). —Rod Lott
Killing Me Softly (2001)
Austin Powers would be proud to see that Heather Graham shags well — and shags often — in Killing Me Softly, the kind of softcore erotic thriller most name actresses aren’t desperate enough to appear in this early in their career. Was she in such a slump that she thought humping Joseph Fiennes on film half a dozen times was her ticket to the A-list?
In Killing Me Softly — not an adaptation of the Roberta Flack song — she plays a designer of corporate CD-ROMs. I’m not convinced that the real-life Graham even knows how to insert a CD-ROM, so the credibility factor goes right out the window from frame one. Plus, every reaction shot of her suggests deer-in-the-headlights stupid (but hey, nice headlights!); nevertheless, they cast her as this happy, well-off, picture-perfect, upwardly mobile gal living in London who, one day, exchanges lustful glances with a mega-creepy Fiennes on a street corner and, within the hour, exchanges sex fluids with him without so much as asking his name.
Heather, thy name is horny! These two do it everywhere, at the drop of a hat, a needle, a thong — you pick the object. And violently! Apparently, she has no problem with vaginal chafing. His character is a mountain climber and he likes to mount her — so clever! Despite a demeanor that suggests Fiennes is a predatory nutball, the sex is so good that Graham dumps her boyfriend for Fiennes, seconds after he smashes a would-be thief’s head to a pulp in a phone booth. Y’know, for her.
You’d think that would be the first sign that her Mr. Mountaineer is an unhinged loony, but nope, Graham needs several more! Not even when, on their honeymoon, he ties a naked Graham up in knots like a freaking Gerry Anderson marionette so he can cut off her breathing while he nails her. Finally, as the clues pile up so high they threaten to topple over on her, she starts to suspect him of murdering an old girlfriend. By then, I was praying she’d become the next victim.
I know that the sex isn’t supposed to be funny, but it is here. And Graham (Acting It Poorly) looks ridiculous feigning passion with her boobs flying every which way (Bouncing Them Madly). Not only am I unsure what her character sees in Fiennes, I’m also unsure what the filmmakers saw in him, either, because with his stoic nature and half-evil smile, he comes off as autistic. Granted, an autistic who’s grrreat in bed, but autistic nonetheless.
Killing Me Softly is a tremendous embarrassment to all parties involved, so be sure to get the unrated cut; I have a sneaking suspicion the R-rated version is far less riotous. —Rod Lott