Because I'm a good friend, I voiced no objection to seeing The Ruins, the new horror film based on a Scott Smith novel one of my pals really dug. As well, I'm open to pretty much anything out there and, in accordance, believe almost anything has a chance to be good, which is why I'm probably the most agreeable "movie buddy" any of my dearest cell phone contacts has. With that (perhaps somewhat naive) critical affirmation safely established, let me say this about the film currently under discussion: it blew tremendous amounts of hot monkey chunks, which is something I haven't officially put on record since I was a teenager.If you're looking for a more mature dissection of matters of quality, fine: this is stock garbage that somehow has already lost sight of the fact that pretty young things being punished (very violently) for being "wild," free-spirited, sexual pretty young things was one of Scream's best witty observations about shitty scary movie cliches. And that Wes Craven classic is pushing 12 years old. I don't find the absurd gore found here (or anywhere else) disgusting in execution so much as in concept. What kind of people are these "movies" being made for? Who gets off on watching a beautiful blond slice her skin up with a knife (oops, spoiler alert) or young, generic hunks cutting off another man's legs? All this would be less nauseating if it all had some kind of point or viable artistic statement. Maybe, just maybe, it's a metaphor for nature's awesome power and how it will always outlast humanity, especially a sampling of humanity who dare (!) to go where they should not. But that's giving The Ruins far too much credibility. Especially considering its antagonist is a fucking plant -- A very CGI vine that mocks its prey with talking flowers. Yeah, don't ask.
And, I'm not usually one for asking these kind of questions, but if all the modern Mayans who fear the almighty weed really thought it was so dangerous, why the fuck don't they just spray its ass with some Roundup?
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