Well, I'm back with another review. I must warn everyone, though: I have a torn rotator cuff and it is painful to type. Hell, it's painful to be awake. So, bare with me if it's brief or confusing or horribly mispelled. The Vicodin doesn't help.
You ever seen the orginal Black Christmas? Man, that movie rocked. It was directed by that one guy. He did that other Christmas movie? You know, A Christmas Story. Boy. Those are some good flicks, aren't they? I hope they never re-make A Christmas Story. Cuz they'll fuck it up, just like they did Black Christmas.
Ok, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I actually had a good time.
A bunch of hot bitches are staying at their sorrririty (shit I totally mispelled that. Fuck it.) house house (Dammit!) for Christmas. A crazy guy escapes from the crazyplace building and hides out in their attic and kills them one by one. Or it could be his sister. Or I could already have had it figured out 10 minutes into the movie, but I'm not going to tell you.
There's your plot. Typical slasher flick. Same formula as all the others. And as your basic run-of-the-mill slasher flicks, it's fine. There was some pretty good gore. You got to see brains. You got to see eyeballs eaten, intestines. Good times.
But I don't want to know who the hell Billy (the killer) is. That was the beauty of the original. Who the fuck was Billy? Why was killing chicks? I don't know! I love not knowing!
By spelling out everything to us, like we're idiots, Glen Morgan and his pals have ruined any mystery and tension from the film. I usually like the guy.
Anyway, some good gore, no titties, dammit, and no mystery, suspense, tension or any sence of HORROR. And I had trouble figuring out witch hot bitch was wich hot bitch. (Fucking Vicodin!)
