Despite it’s single-digit score on Rotten Tomatoes, Post Grad is not a terrible movie. Trust me, I’ve seen terrible movies. No, Post Grad is just a terribly unmemorable cookie-cutter approximation of a movie.

Neither insulting in its awfulness nor worthy of anything deeper then a cursorily glance, the film is doomed to little more then a few more months spent being shown to disappointed tweens at the first and last slumber party hosted by that awkward lonely girl who sits in the back of the classroom sucking her own hair oblivious to the fact that the rest of her classmates mock her Lisa Frank folders.

But that destiny too will be taken from Post Grad when another similarly mediocre movie is pushed through the studio production cycle within the next year.

It’s a real shame too.

Post Grad is chock-full of great actors who, given a slightly less apathetic script, could have put together a movie that spoke of something deeper then the collection of The CW network melodramas that are stitched together in an attempt to spin a half-hearted movie out of straw.

Alexis Bledel stars as Ryden Malby, a recent college graduate who finds she needs to readjust her expectations after she has trouble landing a job.

Offering her emotional support as she blinks her bright blue eyes in frustration are Adam Davies, her loyal platonic non-gay friend played by Zach Gilford, and her wacky family of free-spirits that are played by Michael Keaton, Jane Lynch, Bobby Coleman and Carol Burnett.

Rodrigo Santoro (notably missing the body makeup he used to play Xerxes in 300), J.K. Simmons, Craig Robinson, Fred Armisen and Demitri Martin all have small supporting roles in the film.

Not to sound snarky but director Vickey Jenson, who with this film makes the move from the world of directing animation, just can’t make the break from crafting a cartoon.

While I can certainly sympathize with how emotionally exhausting looking for a job after college can be, Post Grad chooses to gloss over that very interesting subject matter in favor of building a clichéd romantic comedy paint-by-numbers plot that audiences have seen a million times before.

In fact, the movie’s biggest fault is the fact that it has nothing new or interesting to say beyond its “young people have emotional stress too” theme.

As Adam, Friday Night Light’s Zach Gilford plays the unrequited lover, hoping to woo the affections right out underneath Ryden. Unfortunately for Adam, Ryden is much more interested in landing her dream job — that of an assistant editor at a publishing house.

SPOILER ALERT

That all changes, of course, when Adam gets tired of waiting for Ryden to notice him and moves to New York City. Ryden, who has finally just landed her dream job, then proceeds to quit her job, move across the country and chase after the boy she spent the entire movie spurring his advances. That’s right, girls! Careers are a fun hobby but nothing should get in the way of a future spent barefoot and in the kitchen. Ugh.

SPOILER ALERT OVER.

The movie trudges along, playing out predictable scenarios in a way that only those who have limited experiences with the art of moving pictures would be impressed by.

While there are a few half-smile worthy moments in the film, they come at the expense of schizophrenic plotting.

Ryden’s story is, at times, completely put on pause while the film takes leisurely vacations with her wacky family — showcasing admittedly cute sitcom-esque vignettes that have little to nothing to do with the actual plot.

On Blu-ray, the film certainly looks as good as can be expected. Available in the special features section is a collection of deleted and alternate scenes, a music video, life advice from the film’s stars, a few short featurettes that deal with life after college and a few interactive games that are as silly and shallow as the movie itself.

Post Grad, like I said above, is not a bad movie.

It will not hurt a person to watch it. But, if you have any inkling of desire to check the movie out for yourself, I advice you to hold your horses and just wait until that fateful day not too soon in the future where the film will be available by the hundreds at your local used DVD store — sold to the store by a lonely girl who sucks her hair and whose classmates won’t be tricked into attending anymore of her sleepovers again because she showed them Post Grad.

Robert Saucedo wants to know why anybody won’t come to his slumber parties. Follow him on Twitter @robsaucedo2500.

Kate Beckensale: an actress so hot it’s upsetting.

It’s becoming apparent that monster movies are evolving into a new genre. While once audiences watched the latest creature feature in the hopes of being frightened, today’s theatergoers want action – and a lot of it. Devoid of any true scares, Underworld: Evolution is the cinematic equivalent of a Saturday morning cartoon bender. A mixture of sugary-sweet action and plot conveniences, the sequel to 2003’s supernatural smackdown is a pleasantly moronic movie-going experience.

Kate Beckinsale reteams with writer/director husband Len Wiseman to continue the adventures of Selene, a rouge vampire caught in the midst of a war between vampires and werewolves.

Joining her is Michael Corvin (Scott Speedman) a vampire/werewolf hybrid who represents each clan’s next evolutionary step. Together, the two are on the run from both armies after slaying each fraction’s leaders in the first film.

As the sequel opens, dangling plot threads are explored when Marcus (Tony Curran), the original vampire, is reawakened. Looking to rebuild his lineage, Marcus seeks Selene, the key to locating his long-lost twin brother.  Newcomers to the franchise may find it difficult to piece together the different characters and their motivations as concepts are quickly introduced and then skimmed over in favor of unrelenting action.

While the film’s plot is standard Hollywood fluff, Underworld: Evolution excels in its use of special effects, animatronics and explosive action scenes.

Never distracting, computer graphics are blended with make-up and prosthetics to create the film’s monsters. Marcus’ costume is a wonderful achievement, looking like a cross between the star of Wes Craven’s Wishmaster and a spider. Resembling a Rick Baker creation, the film’s werewolves are a mixture of CGI and animatronics figures.

From the film’s opening prologue featuring a medieval battle between the warring monstrosities, audiences are quickly assured that they are in for a blood-soaked hullabaloo. The film offers carnage-crazed adrenaline junkies a handful of money shots – each gorier then the last. When I saw the film in the theater, several male audience members audibly cheered during the gruesome deaths showcased in the film’s finale.

Underworld: Evolution is a field trip through the excess. Those who remembered to bring their permission slips will be treated to a lengthy sex scene that borders on soft-core and enough ammunition to send Charlton Heston into a daze. Underworld: Evolution is, quite frankly, bigger and meatier then any previous supernatural action film. But is it better?

Much like eating a nice big bowl of cereal, watching Evolution may go down good and it will certainly leave a sweat aftertaste, but after a few hours to digest, audiences will be left feeling the effects of a slight sugar headache. The film’s plot offers nothing substantial and merely serves as dressing for the explosive action salad. The plot is as thin as a slice of single cheese, with enough holes to be considered Swiss. Convenience seems to be the film’s main ingredient and in a movie where the heroine never seems to be without significant ammo and nighttime seems to last a lifetime, logic is passed over in favor of a large heaping of nonsense biscuits.

The film’s acting ranges from the subdued to the superfluous. While the actors need not worry about winning a Razzie (the film will surely have been forgotten by then), they are also in no danger of being complimented. With everything but action seemingly phoned in, Underworld: Evolution is a great way to pass the time while cleaning your guns.

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A hippo in lingerie is just one of many images that will be burned into your retinas.

When it was first announced that New Zealand filmmaker Peter Jackson would be directing Lord of the Rings for New Line Cinema, the world of fandom was divided between those who asked “who” and those who asked “are you freaking kidding me?” Before Lord of the Rings, Jackson was primarily known for his low budget, disturbingly gruesome, yet oh so entertaining horror films. The very idea that the man who had brought you such films as Meet the Feebles would be chronicling the exploits of Frodo Baggins boggled the mind.

Meet the Feebles, Jackson’s second flick, is a bizarre spoof of The Muppet Show. Before Matt Stone and Trey Parker were utilizing puppets for acts of debauchery, Jackson was filming the antics of the Feeble Variety Hour.

From an elephant facing a paternity suit served by his baby mamma (who just happens to be a chicken) to a rabbit coping with AIDS to a fly journalist who chases scoops between his lunchroom breaks at the nearest toilet stall, the plot of  Meet the Feebles reads like a dirty joke told between boys on the playground.

While Feebles does hold its share of depravity, it also contains grossly exaggerated caricatures, each bursting with undeniably human traits and flaws, stuffed inside the cutest little animals this side of Jim Henson’s workshop.

In a world ruled by anthromoprhic animals, the cast of the Feeble Variety Hour is hard at work preparing for their first live television broadcast. In-between dance rehearsals and song numbers, the menagerie of puppeted critters blow off steam in a variety of acts including robbery, binge drinking, drug abuse, infidelity and murder.

Heidi the Hippo suppresses the fact that her husband, Bletch the Walrus, is unfaithful by stuffing her face with the finest of chocolate delights – one cake at a time. Robert the Hedgehog falls in love with a beautiful poodle named Lucy but becomes despondent when he walks in on her seemingly making love to Trevor the Rat. What he doesn’t know is that Trevor had drugged the lovely Lucy and was testing her out as the newest star of his homemade pornographic film. Wynyard the Frog fought hard in Veitnam but one cowardly moment turned him to drugs. It’s too bad he doesn’t have enough money for his next fix. It’s even worse for the assistants in Wynyard’s throwing knife act.

The film is indeed quite foul. Yet, despite all the song and dance numbers expressing a love for sodomy, the film’s filth never becomes distractingly dirty.

The motivations and failings of the characters are very much human. Audiences will find themselves ignoring the fact that what they are watching is a mixture of puppets and people in costumes and instead find themselves engrossed in the stories of these flawed performers each spiraling down their personal path to a private hell.

While the puppetry is nothing to bark about, Jackson and his crew did do an impressive job at creating faces with enough characterization to make the animals’ motivation believable. The songs are very lovely in an end of ‘80s/early ‘90s kind of way.

While the film never becomes exceedingly laugh out loud funny, it remains a clever satire of the entertainment industry and an exploration into the age-old comedy rule:  a puppet doing dirty things is always funny.

At one point in the movie, Louie the Fish desperately wishes to join the Feeble chorus. A chance encounter with Bletch the Walrus gives Louie his opportunity to audition for a spot. Bletch interrupts Louie’s musical number with complaints of a cavity deep inside his mouth. Louie offers to take a look inside at Bletch’s teeth and is promptly swallowed by the hungry Walrus. Later during a golf game, Bletch vomits all over his golf buddy. Lying amidst the upchucked food is a half-digested fish. “Did I get the part,” Louie asks before expiring.

You may not have gotten the role you wanted Louie, but you were certainly the most memorable character in this very-memorable cult classic.

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A moment of silence for Christian Slater’s career — taken before it’s time.

Julian Po, a 1997 film from writer/director Alan Wade, is a simple story that not only serves as a crest in actor Christian Slater’s career, but also harkens back to an earlier era of filmmaking.

Julian Po (Slater) is on his way to the ocean when his car breaks down. After he walks into a small town carrying nothing but a suitcase, the locals become obsessed with discovering Po’s secrets. After a day and night of having his every move monitored by nosey neighbors convinced that they have a drug dealer in their small town, Po confesses that he has come to their small town in order to take his own life. Word quickly spreads and soon the entire town knows Po’s intentions. What follows is a series of increasingly quirky encounters between Po and a town full of strangers who want nothing more then to help him on his way to the afterlife.

Based on a story by Branimir Scepanovic, Julian Po resembles a classic episode of The Twilight Zone with its bizarre premise and brisk 84-minute running length. Director Wade set out to tell a quiet story about one man’s journey to life through death and he succeeded beautifully. The movie radiates tragic melancholy though every aspect of production. While it is obvious that a lot of attention went into the film’s production details, the attention to plot details is thankfully sparse.

The film works as well as it does because of the realistic lack of details. In life, not everybody has all the answers. Likewise, in Julian Po audiences are presented with a portrait of a man in the present. Viewers are never given a fleshed-out back-story for Po and they don’t need one. The story is not about why Po wants to commit suicide, but instead is focused on how a small town so desperate for drama deals with Po’s odd announcement.

From the opening narration to the closing shot, nothing in the film seems forced or wasted. Everything about the awkwardness of Po’s quest is presented to perfection. Po records his thoughts down on a voice recorder, often stumbling over his ideas along the way. When he begins to encounter the locals, he gradually shifts from a desperate need for isolation to a newfound desire for human interaction. The story is obviously a fantasy, but the human emotions and insecurities presented along the way could not be truer.

The acting in Julian Po remains wonderfully rich without an inch of scene chewing. Slater utilizes his bad boy persona to catch audiences off guard. Those expecting typical Slater fare will be left surprised at the vulnerability he shows in the film.

The actors portraying the town locals have each developed a library of eccentricities. Michael Parks steals every scene he is in with his performance as Vern, the town’s inn keep who manages to be both a slime ball creep and a truly caring individual. Robin Tunney co-stars as the token love interest who is handled in a decidedly non-cliché way. A local girl who approached Po with proclamations of fate and destiny, Sarah (Tunnery) inadvertently convinces Po not to take his life. It’s too bad, she is five gallons of crazy in a eight ounce cup and saving Po from suicide was not in her plans.

The film always chooses to show instead of tell. Details, while not as omnipresent as in other films, are there for those who pay attention. Sub-plots that seemingly are ignored are wrapped up and answered in a glance between two people or a silent sob hidden from view.

Music by Patrick Williams helps sell the film’s emotions with haunting ballads and strings. As the film builds to a bittersweet ending, audiences will realize watching Julian Po is like watching a clown slip on a banana peal and fall into the path of a moving bus, you don’t know if you should laugh or cry.

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I love this movie so much, I have this poster hanging on my wall.

The night air is suffocating. Benny has just spent the last few months of his life living in foxholes and encampments, struggling to survive the war.  He’s given up everything to fight for his country: his family, his freedom and his music.

Before Benny signed up to fight the Nazis, his life revolved around the piano.  Music was his life.  Now, searching through the rubble of Germany, Benny becomes visibly happy to spot a piano sitting there amongst the carnage.

He sets down his rifle, seats himself in front of the piano and begins to play a haunting melody that stands out in sharp contrast against the horror of World War II that surrounds him.  So engrossed in his piano playing is Benny that he does not notice the German solder approaching from behind.  The Nazi lifts up his rifle, points it at Benny, but then pauses.

He sways to the music, lost in his own memories of a better life.  Benny finishes his tune and turns, spotting the solder behind him.  Before he can lift his gun or utter a final goodbye, he is shot by the German, leaving him slumped over the piano in his death.  The German utters a guttural “Danke” before turning and walking away.

American Pop is about the music.  Telling the story of four generations of Russian-Americans, the film is a living-breathing treatise on music’s influence on the American psyche.  It’s also a cartoon.

Directed by the animation innovator Ralph Bakshi, American Pop is a rotoscoped film – meaning it was filmed with live actors before being animated over.  What this translates to is an unsettling viewing experience; characters in the film are simultaneously hyper-realistic and slightly exaggerated.  To watch the film is to watch a moving, talking Norman Rockwell painting – with a killer soundtrack.

Released February 13, 1981, American Pop is a classically trained epic in every sense of the word.  Zalmie, Benny, Tony and Pete wanted to be stars.  Zalmie’s career had been cut down prematurely, leaving him to live vicariously through the life of his son Benny.  We know what happened to Benny.  Tony was a gifted lyricist, but was swept up in the tribulations of the sixties.  It was up to Pete to bring four generations of his family’s hopes and dreams to fruition.

Beginning in Czarist Russia and ending with the beginning of the eighties, American Pop travels the full course of American music, utilizing jazz, folk, psychedelic, punk, and of course rock and roll.

The film uses the music of such great American artists as Bob Dylan, Heart, Lynrd Skynrd, Lou Reed, Bob Seger, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and Louis Prima.  Using this music, American Pop sets the stage for an exploration into America.

From the seedy underbelly of prohibition era New York to the tranquility of American suburbs to San Francisco in the sixties to the eventual hype and all-encompassing power of the music industry, American Pop is an often touching and always educational trip.

The film is quite literally a college of American culture.

Watching the film is setting one’s self up for a serious case of déjà vu.  Characters and plot scenarios may seem all too familiar, but that is because American Pop is a mirrored reflection of our history as a culture.  The struggles, the losses, and the wins of this immigrant country are reflected in all of its glory through the use of beautifully rendered animation and most importantly American pop.

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Didn’t your mamma tell you it’s rude to stare?

Everybody has felt the temptation. While walking down the street, you spot someone who happens to stand out a little more then usual. Try as you might, your eye is drawn to this curiously constructed person. Maybe there’s something extra where there shouldn’t be. Perhaps something’s missing from the overall picture. Whatever the case may be, you can’t help but stare at that freak.

Wait a minute; you can’t call them that! We’re living in a civilized society with certain a political correctness that we all must follow.

Well, 1932 was a different place.

Seeking to produce the ultimate horror film in the freshly created world of “talkies,” MGM commissioned Tod Browning, director of Universal’s Dracula, to construct something so gruesome, so horrifying it would set the standard for all films to come. What Browning delivered certainly fits the bill. Freaks is a cult classic tale of love amongst circus folks. Rather then utilizing make-up and prosthetics, Browning filled his film with the greatest collection of sideshow attractions ever gathered in one place. From a pair of midget lovers (played by real life siblings Harry and Daisy Earles) to the original Hilton sisters, a pair of conjoined twins each married to a different man, to a truly memorable collection of microcephiles, more commonly referred to as “pinheads,” the film’s stars were culled from the top carnivals of the world. Cast members play a fictionalized version of themselves; their personalities exaggerated to showcase their specific skills and specialties.

Cleopatra, a trapeze artist, puts up with the puppy dog like affections showered upon her from sideshow midget, Hans, with a detached amusement. When she learns from Hans’ jealous fiancé that the pint-sized German has inherited a sizable fortune, she sets upon a sinister scheme to marry Hans and then murder him for his fortune.

What Cleopatra doesn’t count on is the unspoken bond between carnival folk. If one freak is hurt, you face the wrath of all freaks. When Hans’ fellow sideshow attractions discover Cleopatra’s plan, they race, or wiggle as the case may be for real-life quadriplegic actor Prince Randian who plays a human torso, to Hans’ rescue in all their deformed glory.

The DVD edition features a pristine transfer of the classic film. The picture quality is magnificent, allowing audiences a rare glimpse at a seventy plus year old film. While the sound quality is a bit muddled due to the early nature of recording used in filming, handy subtitles will help decipher the film’s plot.

The film clocks in at a quick 64-minutes. This means audiences are treated to a minimalist horror tale without lengthy exposition or self-indulgent camera tricks. Unfortunately, the film’s short length also cuts into whatever character development is presented. There apparently exists a longer cut somewhere out there in the world. Hopefully it gets discovered sooner than later.

While some may argue that the film’s cast was exploited in a cruel and unusual manner, their backgrounds lend more credibility then even Lon Chaney would have had in any one of the roles. Even the actual Hollywood actors hired to fill in the film’s “normal” roles offer above-par performances. The cast portrays a unity that excels at its believability and chemistry amongst characters. Audiences will have no cause to doubt the bond amongst carnival folk.

Upon the film’s release, critics panned Freaks almost universally. Banned in many countries and states, it is still illegal to watch the film in several cities (although the law is not enforced). Rediscovered by the early seventies’ counter culture movement, Freaks has grown into a certified classic. Freaks is a treat both for the visual spectacle offered by the cast and as a reminder of a bygone era where society was not entirely wrapped up in being PC.

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Is it time for Burning Man already?

Difficult to classify, The Wicker Man is part musical, part satire with definite horror overtones. Overall, the film is a tongue-in-cheek look at the nature of cultural diversity and the possibility that sometimes it just pays to be politically correct.

Written by Anthony Shaffer (Sleuth) and directed by Robin Hardy, this 1973 British film stars a young Edward Woodward as Sergeant Neil Howie, a devoutly Catholic policeman from the Scottish mainland who is sent to the offshore community of Summerisle to investigate the disappearance of a young girl.

What begins as a routine investigation quickly turns into a mass conspiracy seemingly involving every one of the island’s inhabitants — all members of a neo-pagan society who worship the “old gods.”

Howie is instantly thrown off kilt as he encounters firsthand the island’s shockingly open sexuality and ritualistic ceremonies and customs.  In a bout of self-righteousness that would not be out of place on Fox News, the shocked Sgt. Howie pledges to not only get to the bottom of the girl’s disappearance, but also to expose the blasphemy that is running rampant on the island.  Convinced the girl was part of a human sacrifice, Sgt. Howie will let nothing stand in his way, not even tact, as he battles the island heathens.

The film contains a splattering of supposed ancient Celtic traditions that, when combined with the obvious overtones of the uninhibited early seventies, gives birth to a wonderful mixing of history and exploitation.

As one example, the island folk love their music and the film contains several wonderfully composed and performed traditional song and dance sequences — including one beautifully haunting ballad sung by a gyrating seductress as she plays rhythm by slapping her nude body. Yet another classic trademark of ‘70s horror films.

The near porn like quality of early seventies horror films is a perfect fit with the uninhibited nature of certain Celtic rituals.  From the island children’s celebration around the maypole (described as clearly being a phallic symbol by a teacher to her classroom of listening school children) to a dance of fertility done in the buff, the movie changes tones rapidly – developing mysteries so fast that the film’s pace leaves a feeling of whiplash.  This rapid-fire nature adds to the audience’s unsettling discomfort as they discover the island’s strange practices along with the outraged Sgt. York.

The film contains a truly memorable performance by the very talented Christopher Lee as Lord Summerisle, the island’s protector and leader.

Channeling a personality that lies somewhere between Liberace and Marshal Applewhite, Lee’s performance of Lord Summerisle is that of a charismatic leader who desperately wants to do the right thing for his people, no matter how misguided he may be in his quest.

Climaxing in a horrific scene that not only reveals the truth behind the island population’s strange beliefs but also introduces the real danger behind the mysterious wicker man, the film leaves audiences with an unpleasant feeling in their gut — but at the same time the faint yet unmistakable traces of a grin upon their face.

In today’s world of cookie-cutter horror films, The Wicker Man is a welcome blast from the past from a decade where crazy cool horror movies could both be amazingly sexual and artsy at the same time.  This film does not offer any life-changing morality lessons, nor does it showcase an unbiased portrayal of ancient religions, but audiences are in for a horribly entertaining story that would not be out of place in any one of the classic EC horror comics of yore.

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I think you cut yourself shaving.

The Exorcist: The Beginning, the prequel to 1973’s groundbreaking horror film The Exorcist, was damned from the beginning.

The original director, John Frankenheimer, dropped out of making the film due to health complications that ultimately led to his death. His replacement, Paul Schrader, was fired from the film after he had finished shooting because the studio demanded a bloodier movie then the psychological thriller Schrader turned in. Renny Harlin was then brought in as replacement director to punch the film up a bit. Instead, he reshot close to 90 percent of the original movie.

It’s no surprise, then, that The Exorcist: The Beginning is one large and clumsy steaming pile of celluloid crap. Owing more in common to the Schwarzenegger shoot-‘em-up Satan flick End of Days then the original Exorcist, The Beginning relies on blood and guts where its predecessor wisely chose to utilize mood and atmosphere.

What made the original Exorcist so darn scary was its use of supernatural horror in an everyday setting. By setting the movie in a typical suburban dwelling, audiences were slowly led down a dark path of terror at a nerve clenching pace.

With Exorcist: The Beginning audiences are instead instantly thrown into a world the average theatre visitor knows nothing about, East Africa. This change in location does not instantly mark a bad movie; it simply made the job harder for the filmmaker — a challenge that Harlin was not able to meet.

Taking place in the Turkana region of Kenya, Exorcist: The Beginning reveals the story of Father Merrin, the elder exorcist character from the original film, and his first encounter with Captain Howdy, the naughty little demon that has a penchant for possessing little children.

Lankester Merrin, played by Stellan Skarsgård in the lone quality performance of the movie, has shed his priesthood after a crisis of faith. Called upon to lead an archeological dig, Merrin discovers a Byzantine church where one should not be. Ignoring any nagging bit of common sense, Merrin and his crew disturb a tomb that had been buried for some reason and in the process awakens an evil that proceeds to systematically lay waste to the neighboring village.

The first film was notorious for its use of a slug like pace in atmosphere that finally paid off in a whopper of an ending.  At first, its prequel attempts to create a similar kind of pace, but it quickly looses patience with atmosphere and mood and instead settles on scaring the audiences with clumsy computer graphics and cheap scares.

Audiences may jump in their seats when hideously rendered CGI hyenas ravage a small child in a gory scene that would make Eli Roth blush, but audiences would also jump out of their seats if a balloon was popped in their face. Exorcist: The Beginning relies too much on the usage of unnecessary violence and loud noises to frighten audiences and this unfortunately leaves the movie with a hollow taste.

It’s hard to take any movie seriously when the protagonist demands on following a strict regime to Hollywood’s cliché horror rules.

1.) If you have to dig in a graveyard or enter a deserted tomb, make sure you do it at night.

2.) Extreme close-ups of the decent demonic make-up jobs will convince audiences that bad pores are scary.

3.) Introduce a cute monkey for a pet and then feed it to hyenas on steroids.

Exorcist: The Beginning is a connect-the-dot horror movie that does not deserve to ride the coattails of its classic predecessor. The cast, minus Skarsgård who turns in a wonderfully nuanced performance, seem to be escapees from a made-for-TV melodrama. Additionally, the use of bright colors successfully manages to defuse any atmosphere the director may have been attempting to create. The computer graphics are completely pointless and clumsily executed.  Some usage of unsettling angles and haunting score help the movie in some regard, but unfortunately it’s too little, too late.

Audiences who enjoy run-of-the-mill schlock will probably get a mild kick out of this phone-in excuse for a prequel, but audiences seeking a little meat with their blood will come out empty handed and slightly angry with this dumbed-down flick that very well might have been the work of Satan.

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