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CampBlood Reviews: Senseless Rants from a Picky Sissy

 

Nine Lives Andrew Green 2002

Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow....

It's pretty fucking sad when that's all I can come up with to make fun of a movie. Mother of GOD -- this is easily one of the worst movies I've ever seen, full stop. Boring, predictable, and stuffy in a way that would even make other Brits uncomfortable, this pale, limp slasher knockoff from across the pond delivers absolutely nothing. Nothing. No blood, no scares, no sex, no humor, no shit. NO SHIT.

I'll be the first to admit that I only rented this piece of crap because it boasts the big-screen debut of the esteemed Ms. Paris Hilton, with whom I admittedly have a slight fascination. Needless to say I was dashed upon the rocks to see that in less than 3 seconds from appearing on screen the Little Hotel that Could proves herself as perhaps the worst actress in the history of the cinema. It's really a sad thing when a self-absorbed anorexic who's been gagging on a silver spoon (among other things) since conception can't even successfully portray a self-absorbed anorexic who's been gagging blah blah blah, you get the point. The most frightening image in the movie is the sight of Paris's pterodactyl-like shoulders poking out from beneath an evening dress, and I briefly entertained the possibility that she would be the perpetrator, killing her friends off with her shoulder blades as her weapons. No such luck, so here's my little note to Paris -- eat a burger, get a life, and promise to NEVER ACT AGAIN.

So a group of friends (there could be nine -- they're honestly so similar that it's impossible to tell. About 20 minutes into the movie I swear a character appears out of nowhere and is treated as if he's been there along -- and this movie takes place in a secluded mansion) get together for one of their birthdays. He's rich and his family is from Scotland, but the guests are all British (save Miss Howard Johnson, who represents America with couture flags flying, much like the callow Rita Rudner character in Peter's Friends -- who was at least funny). They have dinner and engage in some of the most insipid dialogue imaginable. I mean seriously, imagine really insipid dialogue. Go ahead. Got it? Sure? Nope -- this is tons worse. I promise. I think a couple of the kids are romantically involved, but again, they all look like they're named Liam and Pet and are impossible to tell apart.

So after an uneventful evening of boring conversation (think Gosford Park, only with all of the characters dead but still insisting on tea. Actually, don't -- that's far more interesting than this review.), they break up -- not to pork, mind you, but to talk more (eew! boring!), and THANKFULLY, Ms. Hilton is the first to die. This rhapsodically thrilling sequence involves her walking up to a door and someone breaking the glass window in it and knocking her over, which sets the bar for the most painfully uninteresting murder scenes in recent memory. I mean, really -- it seems as though the killer (who is a ghost of an old sharecropper who was blinded or some shit and is now possessing these kids as a way of getting back at the Brits for taking his land) merely needs to walk into people to kill them, as we never see so much as a swinging blade before the characters are strewn about clutching ketchup packs to their bellies.

I've had more fun watching hair grow.

So the kids get offed one by one, only two remain, and the Final Girl kills herself (a patently stupid move for someone who's been trying to survive for 85 minutes, don't you think?) to save the high-cheekboned man of her dreams, I think. I don't really know. But the curse is somehow thwarted because the Final Girl is dead and the Final Guy is Scottish, and apparently Scottish people don't get possessed, because it interrupts their drinking time. Cue Sappy Voiceover. And scene.

I was even more pissed than you might think I'd be because the title Nine Lives is actually not bad, and leads one to believe that the number of victims is going to be nine and has some significance, in a Ten Little Indians sort of way. Unfortunately, although the whole "killing-and-taking-their-land" thing is somewhat similar to what we did to the Indians, that's where any comparisons end. I would say that plot and character are sacrificed for camerawork or vanity, as often happens, but here they're just plain sacrificed, for nothing better, and left out in the cold to freeeze to the driveway. I would offer another film as recommendation in this film's place, but the point is moot -- I think if you steer clear of The Country Bears you're pretty guaranteed to be in better shape than if you rent this mess.

Rating (out of 5): NONE