The Last House on the Left = worthy of a future "saw it three times in theaters" tag

Those Platinum Dunes fuckers need to watch this and take copious notes, because this is how you remake a horror flick. Witless, lazy, botched re-tries like last month's Friday the 13th remind filmgoers just how soul-damaging a poorly-executed genre revisitation can be; but then a rare exception such as this new The Last House on the Left comes along and makes its predecessors seem like a film school reject. Well, the need for improvement is/was much simpler to meet here, since Craven's film is pretty much a piece of shit, save for a few great scenes and general ballsiness.

Leaps-and-bounds superior to Wes Craven's 1972 debut (which itself was a pseudo-remake of Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring, for all you film fun-fact lovers), Last House 2009 rolls along with uncompromising bleakness, all-around strong acting, a script that consistently goes "there" in ways that feel earned rather than indulgent, and a director (in this case, Greece's Dennis Iliadis) taking chances with arthouse inclinations and a showman's command of pacing for intensity's sake.

Even my bladder enjoyed this one. True story---I was miraculously able to withstand one of the most excruciating, leg-crossing, ready-to-pour-out urges to urinate imaginable thanks (or, no thanks?) to this flick's goodness. Hi, I'm the dumbass who gets a large Diet Coke and then proceeds to destroy it before the movie even starts. Unlike me, however, two senior citizens walked out during the film's tone-amplifying centerpiece. *Hint: begins with an R and rhymes with cape*



The biggest compliment that I can pay Iliadis' American debut, other than fending off my Diet-Coke-induced misery, is that it admirably improves on practically every lacking area of Craven's original while still tossing in numerous addition of its own. No idiotic Craven-sim is left unturned. Kick rocks, asinine cop subplot. Hello, overall tone of zero laughs and unflinching hardcore-realism. In the '72 take, Craven's tone was all over the place, bouncing erratically from goofy hick comedy to bumbling cop procedural to exploitative horror. Don't even get me started on the banjo-bent soundtrack. Here, though, a villain-establishing prelude puts one helluva dark ride on cruise control, for the better. And were those some of the same orchestral sounds heard in 28 Days Later? If so, how lazy, but well-placed.



When you ask any horror head about the original, you're bound to hear something to the effect of "That rape scene was nasty, as was that one chick's exposed entrails," a tough 10-minute stretch that's exceptional when put into its 1972 context. After seeing Iliadis pull the same section off in much more painful fashion with more simple implication, though, calling out the Craven version's faults is like hooking dead fish. The '72 film cared more about the villains' perspective than those of the two innocent girl-victims, giving the entire setpiece a filthy, uneasy sadism. Iliadis and screenwriters Carl Ellsworth and Adam Alleca flip the POV through the eyes of the teenage gals, mostly more-established "loving daughter" Mary (actress Sara Paxton), and it's all the more scarring for it. No longer are we watching sick fuckers get their rocks off for no good reason; now, we're helplessly witnessing a nightmare that neither side expected to be a part of. The defiling of Mary easily sets a new bar for sexualized violence in Hollywood, whether you deem that commendable or despicable. BTW, I couldn't take my eyes off the rape scene shamefully. More a product of captivating filmmaking than any personal deviancy, so breathe with ease.



Effective in equal measure is the choice to [SPOILER ALERTAGE] allow the daughter-victim to (barely) survive the raping/attempted murdering this time. Having the parents, Emma and John (played nicely by C-list vets Monica Potter and Tony Goldwyn), see their little girl clinging to life with a bullet hole near her shoulder and a crotch that screams "I was raped!" adds whole new levels of anger, fear, confusion, and bloodlust for revenge. Though, this film's final act is more about survival than vengeance, an aspect that elevates The Last House on the Left 2009 into a more dramatic plain than simply "horror." In horror films, murders and scenes of gore tend to come off as gratuitous, but here the bloody justice issued by the parents is urgent. Some "We better kill these sons of bitches with the quickness before they discover Mary in the living room" immediacy.

The way Iliadis stages the entire "parents turn the tables" portion results in some of the most seat's-edge viewing I've seen from an American-made horror film in a long ass time. No wonder that Iliadis is a foreigner. Namely the first evildoer's demise, that of Francis (played with charismatic coldness by Aaron Paul), the younger brother of the deviant-crew's leader, Krug (nailed with calculated menace by Garrett Dillahunt). The lead-up to Francis's comeuppance is patient, mining some nice tension from the question of whether he'll discover Mary recuperating a mere 30 feet away from him as he tries to score with the mother, cutie Monica Potter (can you blame Frank? Chick's a MILF). But when shit hits the ceiling and the husband/wife team bring Hell down on Frankie Boy, the intensity is pretty special, accelerated by a booming electronica score and rapid camera cuts to and from Frank's bloodied, agonizing face. And the payoff is a spade.



The Last House on the Left 2009 isn't perfect, though. There's only one real glaring problem with the film---it's utterly-pointless final scene. Everything up until the last minute remained in line with what came before, keeping the realistic approach to violence in check. [HUGE SPOILER ALERTAGE] For no logical reason other than to pander to audiences with one last "yell and applaud" moment, though, Iliadis and company (including Craven, one of this film's producers) tack on a death scene right out of some over-the-top exploitation film and nearly piss all of the good will they've earned for preceding 99% of film away. If you've seen the too-revealing trailer, then you're aware that a microwave is used as a murder weapon, which in itself is ridiculous. Yes, there's a brief scene early on that points out that the microwave is broken, but can this kitchen appliace really operate with the door open, malfunctioning or not? And how is that it takes me nearly four minutes to heat up a couple of tasty Lean Pockets yet it take the father hardly ten seconds to fry Krug's head until it exploded (with some pretty bitching gore effects, I should add)? If this were any other horror film, this microwave-meets-Scanners moment would rock excessive ass, but here it's blatantly unfitting. It takes a lot for me to not enjoy watching a noggin combust due to the same heat-power that warms up my leftovers.

One mishandled minute out of 90-or-so total is far from shabby, still, so ultimately The Last House on the Left's one boo-boo is easy to look beyond. Just way too much positive going on. Every actor on screen performs well. I must point out sexy Riki Lindhome, who plays Krug's psycho-bitch lover Sadie; Lindhome has officially become one of the most intriguingly-beautiful actresses in the game. I could look at her for hours on end and never lose the parallel feelings of attraction and fascination. An able actress, too. Iliadis isn't afraid to keep taking you to where most other filmmakers are too pussy to go, and his stylistic sensibilities upgrade the cinematography and framing decisions above standard films of this ilk. See, this is what happens when thoughtful filmmakers deliver the horror; take note, whoever directed that Prom Night remake. Oh, that's the same dude behind the upcoming The Stepfather remake, right? Yeah, that one is going to puke.



Would I recommend this film to casual movie heads? Yes, but hesitantly. And before turning my phone off to avoid any "You sick, sick man" calls, text messages, and/or voicemails. It's not an easy watch. Very, very bad things happen to both good and bad people, and even the bad people somehow conjur up droplets of sympathy as acted by the talent here. The Last House on the Left '09 isn't what most would peg a "great film," though I'm sure any cinematic-thinker can appreciate an aspect or three. The catch here is that this is a movie tailor-made for somebody like me, skillfully including all of the creative and visual ticks that I prefer. Recall, I'm the same fella who gleefully rewatches a woman's pregnant stomach get cut open with scissors when paying my Inside DVD mind.

Now, if being partial to death and depravity makes me "sketch," that's a whole other story. I've been called worse, anyway. "Meat," anybody from Paramus Catholic High School?