jeffoneonone

Like most people, I grew up with the Bond films. The film series naturally led me to seek out the Ian Fleming novels, and I was struck by how much different they were from most of the films. Ultimately, however, I still liked the movies better.

However, time and my own maturity took its toll on my opinion of these increasingly by-the-numbers exercises in inanity -- with Die Another Day, the last Bond flick, being the final straw. From that point on, I no longer even cared if another Bond film was ever made again.

But that's when I started revisiting the Fleming novels. While hardly great literature, they had a streak of sophistication, truly sexy sexuality, and sadism that was irresistible. If only the filmmakers would realize what they had within the pages of those wonderful pieces of pulp fiction -- ones they had mutilated on screen for so many years by overhauling plots and making over-the-top mockeries of the source material.

But tonight, upon the release of Casino Royale, I think Ian Fleming is finally sleeping peacefully in his grave. Well played, Daniel Craig, Martin Campbell, Michael Wilson and Barbara Broccoli -- well played indeed.

First of all, no, I didn't see it 30 years ago (just watched it last night in fact) so my opinion isn't tainted by nostalgia. Second of all, no, I'm not 12 years old (33, in fact). And despite those factors, I still really enjoyed Burnt Offerings and was genuinely scared by it. And considering I'm a horror buff who does not scare easily, that's saying something.

Not sure exactly why there is such a hate-on for this movie. It has its share of melodramatic acting (particularly Oliver Reed, whose British soap opera-inspired turn elicited more than a few guffaws on my part), but it had a genuinely creepy vibe that I think outweighed its flaws. People often compare it to The Shining, released four years later, and while I'm not so bold as to say that Burnt Offerings is a better film than that Stanley Kubrick classic, some of the comparable elements are actually scarier at some points. At any rate, it's a little more subtle than Jack Nicholson's somewhat over-the-top performance.

I'm writing a horror screenplay. Until I saw The Dark Hours, I thought it was pretty decent. But this movie turned everything I thought I knew about horror on its head and made even some of my very favorite horror flicks seem superficial by comparison.

It's not that it's particularly original -- Chris Nolan could almost be listed in the credits for the cue that Paul Fox picks up from Memento and Following. What makes it stand out? It's damn scary -- it gave me the same visceral feeling of horror formerly reserved for classics like Halloween and Psycho. But even then it's like comparing apples to oranges because it's just as much a psychological thriller as it is a horror film. The Dark Hours takes the best from psychological thrillers, so-called "slasher flicks" and the lamentably-popular genre of torture horror and mixes them up in such a way that it seems fresh and original.

The film features a cast of talented unknowns, which works in its favor because there are no big egos drawing one's attention away from the story itself (and trust me -- you'll NEED to be paying attention to get the full effect).

Lopped off two stars for some unnecessary gore. Although it wasn't as extreme as many horror films, it didn't really add anything of value to the film -- gore doesn't produce scares, just shock.