Real World: Halloween

But one could also be forgiven for expecting something other than the cinematic equivalent of an egging or toilet papering. Unfortunately, this eighth (well, technically the seventh) entry in the Michael Meyers mythos runs more along the lines of the ol’ flaming bag of dog poop left on the front porch.

The surprise here is that Halloween: Resurrection even made it past the screenplay stage, let alone got made. Sounding for all the world as if it were written as some high-schooler’s fan fiction, the script for this ponderous exercise is easily the shoddiest work that I’ve seen translated to screen since Urban Legends: Final Cut (which reminds me—a good rule of thumb is to avoid any film that utilizes a colon in the title).

After a by-the-numbers prologue set in a mental hospital (stocked with characters that only exist to reiterate what has happened in the previous entries before getting killed), the action switches back to the venerable psycho’s ol’ slayground, Haddenfield. It’s Halloween eve, and the blade bait is being lined up as a reality television show locks down a handful of college students in the old Meyers house, with video cams supposedly documenting their every move. Of course, the writers (yeah, there were two of them) felt the need for these characters to natter on about what has already been rehashed to death in the first part of the flick, before indulging in the gratuitous Blair Witch Project shaky-cam audience abuse.

Everything about this inept mess reeks, although some unintended humor can be found by a creative, easily self-amused viewer (and for the truly morbid with an appreciation for irony, there’s always the sight of Jamie Lee Curtis, looking truly wretched as if she realizes that the series that brought her debut to the big screen may well also take her hand and lead her out of the theater). There really is nothing to see here, folks. Just move along, please.