Hatchet

No New Kind of Pain

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When it comes to bad, or even: baaaad horror movies, I do not tolerate yest and laughter, as I fell in love with them a couple of years ago instead. As an effort miraculously weighing in without any weight whatsoever, Hatchet manages to deliver solid anti-content on a superconstant register, steadily revealing True Horror via the unspeakable length of 75 minutes this here swampterror does run for.

Surely, 75 minutes can be quite helluva' time if to spend it rigorously at the dentist's waiting room, yet you would be a whole lot safer there compared to the vicinity of a canvas/screen that happens to harass unsuspecting consensus with this puzzling delivery of robust shallowness. HAH!, nice disturbance there, yeees? Yeah, this here disturbance was, and, in fact, still is more effective than the whole of what this movie will deliver. It's not to say though that this flick is not worth checking out. You need a little trick, that is all. And, of this particular trick: I will tell you all - let someone else bear this magnificent weight, too.

Hatchet is a wonderful piece of mass entertainment at its own right, and here is why: It. Does. Not. Get. Deeper. Than. This. Because, if it does: then THAT particular project will be canceled, trust me. Surely, Hatchet would have been better as such, as well: yet its mere and factual existence goes for the first Onion with ruthless efficiency. Oh, and I have no plans of making a "Siro Onion" rating for a movie THIS banal and stale, either. Come with me into the Swamps, OH!, Dearest Visitor, as I will show you something there that I am sure we all have seen a million times before.

Take heed and bear witness to the actors you see in this flick, as you can not be exactly sure if you'll ever have the pleasantry of watching them delivering talent in a future project. Hatchet starts off decently, nevertheless: some semi-OK gore scene you'll be soaked into, characterized by the presence and imminent death of a homophobic redneck dudette and his son. Their balls will abruptly be consumed by some highly illegal swamp whatnot, and, all of a sudden: The Camera Changes To Another Environment, Leaving You To Wonder If It Was Just Your Mind Playing Tricks On You!!

But, no, each time I watched it, the homophobic redneck dudette and his idiotic son always got consumed by the highly illegal swamp whatnot. Justification of "idiot": sorry, Ladies, please put some hands on your ears momentarily. So, if you are on a fishing trip, I surely aware that pissing into the water is not among the Top 5 Most Glorious Things you can commit, but I am pretty sure that it is not among the Top 5 Things nature isn't prepared to deal with, either. Especially not since nature seems prepared enough to deal with most anything: for convince power, check the opening sequence of Hatchet, an amazing period of revelation that fortunately chose to approach the hinted dilemma on the exquisitely delicate horror register. You sense irony here? Me hopes ye do.



A long stor- pardon me, excuse cut short: Hatchet will give you a mysterious swamp trip on a boat with the casual B-flick idiots on board. Two stock-idiots of early 30s pretending to be 20s: granted - offered. Two chicks with acceptable boobs whom are not afraid to show them off: granted - offered. An old couple with grouch Lady and her husband who is constantly interested in the boobs the gals do sport: granted - offered. Mysterious beauty in Columbo Balloon to conceal her Gun: granted - offered. Notice how everything is arranged for a horrendous swamp trip!

My focal problem with Hatchet and similar movies is the fact and an inherent anti-appeal of miming well researched production values as an effort to draw your attention away from evident budget difficulties. The entire goddamn movie is DARK, dark, daaaaaaaark. It is not like it's: dark. It is like the consciousness of Darth Vader when put into immense sedation and left for thinking for five eternities. So: it is dark, believe you me. It is important if you have "something" in the dark, surely. But when you have - well thought word of the BEEP! character here - in the dark, your audience will catch either the stench or the utter presence of it. As I notice, this period regularly comes by the 10th minute, this is the threshold by which immensely redundant dialog work might secretly suggest you that the director might not have anything much to say, after all. So, by the moments Hatchet will emerge to punish ignorant asses: you will be DAMN grateful for him, trust me.

I assume it will come to you as a development of zero surprise power that the participants of the trip will be forced to leave the boat, AND to figure out a way of escape on relative solid ground. These are the proper times, no doubt, to entertain your fresh acquaintances with casual horror stories of suggested reality factor to them, and, as spoken by the mysterious girl in Columbo Ballon, such is the tale of Hatchet, indeed.

Ooooonce upon a tiiiiiime, there was this poor, disfigured little child, so horrific that his father decided to nurture him from safe distance using slings. To top all of that: he hid the child, locked him up and refused to show him to anybody. Later, some children came to the locked house, wanting to see Hatchet to make fun of him. They accidentally set the house on fire, and the father, who happened to arrive home at the period, wanted to set his son free. The door was stuck though, so the father had to rely on a hatchet to make his way in: his son, standing on the other side, tragically got into the way of the tool, and, as such: got knocked out shortly and rather thoroughly. Locals tell that if you are close to the house, you can still hear Hatchet crying for his father.



The "Welcome to B-Flick Eternal, No Return!" look.

This is a legit background story, no doubt, yet the movie makes but scarce use of it: to be specific, makes only much use of it that the buildup may freely deliver the everyday average Friday the 13th Jason-clone to you. Hatchet is quite hilarious at that: a rubber outfit to suggest muscular proportions, a rather intense temper, and, can't help but assume that bad breath are all parts of the focal traits of this particular baddie, the mere protagonist you will see performing body modifications on the unfortunate swamp invaders. Here is a photo I made, check him out, girls and boys:



- WHUT??
- Nothing, just drifted away for a while.

Hatchet is a blatantly long movie when considered in the projection of focal attractions it brings to the table. Totally flat jokes of the lower body part-character are thoroughly offered and spammed in your face, chicks are included only so they can whine and whiiiine and whhh-whi-whiiine all over the place, which is surely expected and even accepted for the first time, but once you expect the average B-flick chick to get her 222th nervous breakdown

AND SHE DOES GET IT INDEED -

then you will feel the definite urge to rely on your player's fast forward capabilities. I confess I did the exact same thing, as Hatchet speaks such a limited "horror language" that I could be absolutely sure that I can not miss out on anything. Yet, funnily enough, this method emphasized a very precious peak moment, nevertheless. I am going to share this with you.

Picture that the trip participants finally decide to wage a war against Hatchet. The camera shows two of them, a chick and one of the dudes. Listen to this cited dialog, which is not even the bestest of the whole thing.

"- You see anything??"
"- No!"

Okay, this is normal so far, right? Now comes the superb moment: the director decides to show secretive black tones of the swamp for half a minute or so. Then you are taken back to the girl and boy. And Hatchet, all of a sudden, delivers dialog par excellence once again, giving you this:

"-You see anything??"
"- No!"

Surely, in an ideal world, no film could have been released with such evident indications of total lack of narrative readiness, but, hey, that's why we love and keenly greet these celluloid atrocities, timeless containers of vibes that should not be parts of any approachable existence, OR of an existence worth reaching for. Even gore isn't particular in the movie: tone is OK, but there is little of it, yet what IS of it is often haunted by unacceptable sloppiness and/or an overwhelming degree of anatomical misconception. Check the sketch in which Hatchet rips the grouchy Lady's mouth towards the opposite directions. Surely, the attraction itself is rather OK, yet results and what is revealed is but a total killing of the illusion: no bones or teeth are revealed, just a destructed rubber mask. Bah, bah and a triple bah! Bah, bah, bah! All in all, Hatchet is easily the worst, I even dare say: worstest horror I SAW saw far, - phun totally intended - nevertheless I would urge you to watch it - just make sure to skip the first 45 minutes of it OR watch the trailer instead. That would be the most effective solution, unfortunately.



- I Will Punish You For This Review Yet, Worthless Critic!!
- You already did that, Hatchet, me pal.

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