The Damned (Gallow's Hill) 2013

Welp, time to choose a horror movie at random from Netflix's meager offerings. Seriously, Netflix is like an all-you-can-eat buffet table which only ever offered two or three varieties of meat loaf. And when the sad, soggy loaves are slowly consumed, they're not restocked. The glass casserole dishes are left to draw flies, the hardened bits of food still clinging to them turn green and grow fur, and you poke at it all with your fork, knowing nothing edible can possibly still be lingering in there.

So here we go with "The Damned" aka "Gallow's Hill" which features a hill, but no gallows.

Never disregard the locals warning about unsafe driving conditions. The worst thing you can say in a horror movie, besides "Wait here" and "Is somebody out there?" is "He/She is a local, don't listen to them, they don't know what they're talking about." Yeah, um, pretty darn sure that locals actually DO know what they're talking about. They fucking live there. They've probably fucking lived there their whole life and therefore would know more about the terrain than you and your skinny gringa girlfriend.

Another basic rule to follow should you ever find yourself stranded in a foreign country in the middle of a fierce storm: don't gesture to the nearest isolated, grandiose state and announce to all present that "Yonder lies one spooky-ass domicile, let us go hence and bully our way past the curmudgeonly old hermit who does not want to let us in in order to use his phone which has been out of order since 1978." 

Look, if the urge comes on you suddenly to take a wicked piss, don't. I mean, come on - you've just been caught in a flash flood, it's pouring rain, the house looks like it already smells like moldy newspapers and wet dog; just pee in your pants. Nobody is gonna notice.

Brilliant. Wonderful idea, Princess. "Honey, I heard some strange noises coming up from the pipes while I was peeing into this incredibly filthy toilet, I think we should go investigate!" Fuck you, lambkins. You've been in this house for all of seven minutes and you think you have a right to track down the origins of those strange groans and moans? Maybe the guy left the Spice Channel on in his bedroom. MYOB, you nosy twat.

Fine, okay, goody for you - you found a little girl with a dirty face and stringy hair locked in a roach infested cellar room. You think you've just busted El Loco Pervo of Bogota in the act, but I'm wondering why none of ya'll mutherfuckahs has apparently never seen The Ring. Or Silent Hill.

Hmm, perhaps we should have wondered how a little girl managed to survive being locked in a dungeon for so long without food or water before we knocked the old guy who did it right the fuck out of his shoes with a shotgun. Also, maybe we should mention to someone the fact that La Nina has a thing for groping girls' sweater kittens and making lewd remarks? Clearly, Spooky Little Girl is - at the very least - in need of some Thorazine.

She who drinks first dies first. Or at least gets possessed first. Okay, or just wakes up in a puddle of blood on the kitchen floor next to the dead body of the creepy little girl with no memory of what happened. Whatever. Oh no wait, yep, she must be possessed because she's gettin' all sex-monkey with that other girls boyfriend.



Tit shot confirmed. I repeat, we have Tit Shot, it's official.

Whatever you do, Mr. Main Protagonist, do NOT react to the death of your dead wife's sister in any way. No shock, or surprise or grief, just mild incredulity and slight discomfort, as if you're in between bouts of Montezuma's diarrhetic revenge.

And you, spoiled rotten teenybopper in the too-tight-jeans who started all this shit to begin with: even though you've been told that demons lie, I want you to instantly believe everything this one tells you. We don't have time for character development, Sweet Cheeks. We need you and your daddy to separate ASAP and make it easier for the Big Bad Bruja to drive a wedge between you and feed off your weaknesses.

Hey! No! I call "no giggly female demons smashing through rotted wooden walls in order to torment our sole remaining somewhat dubious male hero." Ellen Sandweiss, Betsy Baker and Theresa Tilly beat you to it. And what the fuck is this? Is this supposed to be scary? Because she looks like The Joker. And not even a good Joker, more like a Mary Louise Parker got drunk and ate mommy's lipstick kinda clown. I saved this screen shot to my document file under the name "stupiddemon." Yes I did.

Oh great. Hmm, how shall we end this movie? Ooooo, I know! I just saw Manos: The Hands of Fate the other night when I was really stoned and couldn't figure out how to change the channel. Let's do a full circle and end up right back where we started! Yay!

Fuck you, movie.