Tuesday, August 16, 2011

everybody in the house of love.

Sorry about the lack of updates of late, been stuck in the middle of school holibags trying to juggle evil podlings whilst drawing sexy were-ladies and caped vigilantes.

It's a dirty job etc.

The Silent House (2010).
Dir: Gustavo Hernández. 
Cast: Florencia Colucci, Abel Tripaldi and Gustavo Alonso.

It's a lovely Autumn eve in downtown Uruguay (I think), the sun is setting, the birds are tweeting and the painfully hatchet faced Laura (Colucci, looking like a healthier, slightly less pie obsessed Sonia Jackson from Eastenders) is accompanying her grizzly Edward James Olmos-ish father (and collector of Henrik's department store staff lottery money) Wilson (the director of Rompenieblas, una historia de psicoanálisis y dictadura himself, Alonso) to their pal Jimmy Néstor’s (Tripaldi, misspelt brother of Peter) run-down old house, where they plan to spend the night for no other reason than it looks a wee bit creepy.

Oh and silent, obviously.

Néstor, being a nice guy, has bought along a couple of fluorescent lamps (you know, the ones bright enough to use a video camera with), a tinny off-tune medium wave radio and a few dog blankets for his friends to help them thru' the night.

No Bovril, booze or biscuits tho' the tight bastard.

Settling down on a couple of big dusky chairs for the night and with some frankly appalling Spanish language country music to help them get to sleep, Laura is soon (well, soonish I mean we have to put up with ten minutes of her aimlessly wandering the house and giving us a quick glimpse of bra strap first) disturbed by the sound of shuffling coming from upstairs.

"Look at the dog! Look at the dog!"

Finally waking her dad from his pneumatic breast obsessed dream he reluctantly heads upstairs to have a nosey about leaving Laura downstairs quivering like a very thin jelly.

A sudden bang followed by a manly scream informs Laura (and the viewer) that something nasty has happened to Wilson.

Well it's either that or he's tripped over an old paint pot but where would the tension be in that?

Cue an hour of Laura investigating every single inch of her immediate surroundings (and more) even after she discovers he dad's dead and bound body, revealing that there is every possibility of a mad mentalist murderer being in the house with her.

Women eh?

Laura visibly shocked by her dad's black trouser, brown shoe combination.

But don't fret tho' cos these aimless meanderings are often interrupted by the odd tin falling off a shelf, birds flying out of cupboards and big beefy hands grabbing for our heroine who, after about forty minutes of re-enacting cut scenes from Resident Evil, runs off screaming only to come across Néstor on his way back to the house with some pasties for supper.


Given the choice between going to the local police station or heading back to the house our kooky couple decide on the latter (as you would if you still had another twenty odd minutes of film to fill) giving the director even more opportunity for some scary jumps, Polaroid  flash fun featuring ghostly girls and ketchup covered killers and finally a bedroom wall covered in saucy pics of Laura, Néstor and her dad.


"It's the Gonch!"
It seems that young Laura and her dad's pal have a history of doing the (very) dirty together and with, it seems Wilson's blessing.

It's all like a slightly less entertaining episode of Jeremy Kyle.

But with more teeth obviously.

With her fathers body gone, Néstor missing, a ghostly girl wandering the hallways and only a few minutes left to build to a satisfying climax what will happen to poor Laura?

Will she be the killers next victim?

Is it all imagined?

Or will the director treat his audience like idiots and reveal that what we've just watched unfold in real-time is all actually utter bollocks and that Laura's been killing everyone off because Néstor made her get rid of their baby?

They wouldn't do that would they?

Fuck me Cheryl Cole's let herself go.

The biggest shock surrounding this movie is that it's from Uruguay, a country more famous for being the ninth "Most livable and greenest" country in the world and it's cannibalistic rugby team than for it's cinematic triumphs and judging by The Silent House's distinct lack of internal logic, any kind of consistent characterisation and a total disrespect for it's audience's intelligence it'll probably stay that way.

Florencia Colucci, possibly the one from the film, possibly not.

It's selling point as a one-take, real-time thriller is a lie (I spotted at least two edits in the first twenty minutes) as is it's purported 'based on a true story' credentials (possibly). In fact there's nothing here that we haven't seen a thousand times before.

Best of all tho' is the movie's post credits coda where, just to show how mental Laura actually is (because having her murder her dad and lover with a scythe obviously isn't enough) we get ten minutes of her skipping thru' the woods with an imaginary child whilst waffling on about canoes.

If you think I'm being a wee bit harsh (what? me?) it's only because that with a little more care and a lot more thought this could have been a great little spook flick.

As it is now it's just bloody annoying.

Well at least we have the remake with the Olsen Twins younger sister Elizabeth to look forward too.

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