In exquisite, death-dealing detail, writer-director Rob Zombie illustrates the rebirth of John Carpenter's classic Halloween in ways that provide a bloody blueprint of exactly how a psycho-killer would beat someone to death; that is, what it would look, sound, and feel like-painful as that may be.
For this, Zombie deserves a hearty pat on the back. However, on the whole, his film is lack-luster and only partially worthy of its name.
Halloween follows Michael Myers from his humble roots as a disturbed ten-year-old, to his committed years at Smith's Grove Sanitarium, and finally, through his nights as the white-mask-wearing murderer that viewers know and love.
Zombie's deliciously evil wife, Sheri Moon (as Sheri Moon Zombie, The Devils Rejects), plays Deborah Myers, the creep child's afflicted mother. There's only one problem: Moon can play sadistic, seductive and psycho - but not afflicted.
Her aura of Meg Ryan gone berserk fits better when she's the one doing the torturing, slicing and dicing. It's fun to see Zombie spotlight his wife, but if the Superbeast thinks his lady is as fine an actress as she is drop-dead sexy, he's love-drunk dreaming.
Television actor Malcolm McDowell (Entourage) plays Dr. Samuel J. Loomis, the child psychologist who works with Michael and wants nothing more than for the troubled boy to wash away his devastating anger.
In the big picture, Halloween doesn't quite satisfy. There are however, individual scenes in this bewildered bash that will provide enough grotesque gratification to make even the most veteran torture-gazers shake their heads at the ground.
The audience wonders, Did that really just happen? What's going to happen when this ape has a knife?
Unfortunately, this uneasy anticipation taps out sooner than a keg of a beer at a UB Rugby drink-up.
To bored-walk through the second half of the film is to witness a pretty smart and scary prequel turn into a run-of-the mill slasher. The "you ain't seen nothin' yet" admonition that's so crucial to maintaining interest can no longer hold its claim because forty-five minutes in, viewers have already seen it all.
To make matters worse, undeveloped character-prey keeps the latter killings bland and indifferent. There is no Jamie-Lee Curtis. Shucks, there's not even an L.L. Cool J.
Zombie smears his loud, abrasive dialogue style all over this one. The non-stop yelling and cussing prove to be more of a distraction than a compliment.
Further basting the pumpkin pie in annoying-ness, Zombie brings back many of his cronies from House of 1000 Corpses and The Devils Rejects to comprise his latest cast. Although most are impressive actors by now, the same voices and the same deliveries set to the same tick of the Zombie rant, are just exhausted.
The Hellbilly apparently took good care of the people closest to him; however, his film would have enjoyed fewer stale faces in the spotlight.
Aside from his grating dialogue and cast, the Rob-Zombie-touch works well with the Halloween name. He loves music and audiences will, too, when they hear Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear The Reaper" dully playing from a transistor radio moments before a helpless victim gets owned by the masked madman. All our times have come indeed, muah ha hah.
Zombie also loves naked women-lots of them-having plenty of hot, torrid sex.
As usual, the deranged director shows off his wife's hind parts like a BB gun at second grade show-and-tell. It's a great touch; a horror film just feels more at home when the bare flesh flows like wine.
Zombie cherishes the essence of Halloween, as the original John Carpenter theme song is never too far away.
For visual appeal, Zombie chose to keep the 'circus from hell,' music video-like cinematography that made House of 1000 Corpses so bizarre - far from his Halloween.
The more conventional look works to preserve the quiet eeriness of the series, which is commendable. However, a few more Zombie sideshow antics in the visual realm may have been appreciated, especially midway through the tale when it starts to lose some serious steam.
Danny Trejo (Grindhouse) delivers an upscale supporting performance as Ishmael Cruz, an insane asylum guard who has taken a seemingly good-natured understanding to the grunting killer.
In the end, however, Halloween's choppy glimpses of clever horror will likely be trumped by the series' earlier installments when it comes time to pop in a fright-fest on a dark and stormy Buffalo night.
