The Hills Run Red
November 6th 2009 01:32
Great title, but oh, what a piece of crap movie; The Hills Run Red (2009) is one of those annoyingly pretentious movies that aims to be savage and extreme, whilst playing with sub-genres (slasher flick-cum-torture-porn-cum-mo vie-within-a-movie) and expectations, yet slits its own throat of plausibility from the get-go, leaving the corpse to become utterly bloated with satirical self-importance. This is no laughing matter; the movie fails on almost every level.
The only thing I can recommend it for is Sophie Monks’ tits, and yes, I’m being facetious. Monks spends a surprising amount of time exposing her natural, luscious bust, and for fans of the ex-pat Aussie, it seems she’s dead keen on scuttling any sweetness she might have once possessed. But enough about Monks’ assets, she can act, and her role isn’t perfunctory, but the movie’s dead in the water even before she attempts her lame lap-dance.
The movie is gruesome in places, and prides itself on trying to push some boundaries, but this is no Frontiere(s) (2007). None of the graphic violence actually works on a gut-level; too much CGI for a start, damn I hate the look of digital gore (I must be getting cranky in my old age) and none of the characters are empathetic enough to warrant any concern over their well-being. William Sadler is pushing shit uphill, and the less said about the other leads the better.
The guts of the plot is summed up rather nicely at imdb.com: A group of young horror fans go searching for a film that mysteriously vanished years ago but instead find that the demented killer from the movie is real, and he's thrilled to meet fans who will die gruesomely for his art. Actually, it’s less a group of horror fans, as one obsessed horrorphile, Tyler (Tad Hilgenbrinck), who coerces his best buddy Lalo (Alex Wyndam) and girlfriend Serina (Janet Montgomery) to help him track down the daughter of legendary “master of horror” (umm, he’s made one feature, how can he be a master??) director Wyler Concannon, whose sadistic masked-killer flick, The Hills Run Red, is considered the most sought after piece of grindhouse celluloid ever.
The daughter Alexa (Sophie Monks) is a junkie stripper, and in an absurdly insipid sequence Tyler commits to assisting Alexa through cold turkey in what seems like a piss-easy procedure. Now she’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, clean as a whistle, ready to do what it takes to get Tyler what he wants. The wonders of a cold shower, huh?
The killer of the movie, Babyface (several Bulgarian actors play him, yes the movie was shot in Bulgaria with an Eastern-European crew and featured extras), is a nasty piece of work, but Leatherface would eat him for breakfast. Of course there are family secrets that need to be brought to the surface of this vile stew (and that’s not wicked vile, that’s putrid vile), but not before everything becomes rather silly and convoluted, preachy and incredibly tedious, culminating in Alexa’s diatribes about her father’s failures as a filmmaker (“No one cares about the sub-textual shit … get to the kill!”) and where the real horror lies. Who cares? The Hills Run Red failed long before Tyler is strapped to a chair in the Concannon private screening room watching raw 16mm footage which somehow miraculously developed itself even though it was only shot moments earlier …
Screenwriters and directors need to take extra-care when they’re making a horror movie that attempts to satirise the genre, or make statements about the “art”. At the end of the long night, these kind of horror movies simply don’t cut the mustard (with very few exceptions). A truly effective horror movie plays the game straight. If it’s bent, it’s because it’s pushed the boundaries convincing, in a genuinely shocking manner, not in motivational or contextual contrivance, not with verbose dialogue that belies the character’s intelligence, not with … ahhh, fuck it, I’ve cornered myself so I end up sounding like a disgruntled wanker.
But the basic truth is; keep it simple. The Hills Run Red tries to be clever as it hides behind a tribute mask, but it wears its intentions on its ragged sleeve. It’s bleeding obvious, it ain’t scary, its ultraviolence is processed, its logistics confused. Did I miss the bloody point? I don’t think so. The DVD cover art is okay, I’ll give it that.
Here's the trailer:
Curiously I discovered a drinking game for those gluttons for punishment:
“This drinking game is to be played with The Hills Run Red and some beer… whatever you can find at your nearest backwoods gas station.
1drink – every time you see boobs
1 drink – every time you see blood
1 drink – every time someone dies
1 drink – every time someone says “The Hills Run Red”
1 drink – every time someone says “Babyface”
1 drink – every time you see Babyface
The Voyeur Special: Drink continuously every time you see the movie through a video camera.”
Y’see, I do have a sense of humour!
The only thing I can recommend it for is Sophie Monks’ tits, and yes, I’m being facetious. Monks spends a surprising amount of time exposing her natural, luscious bust, and for fans of the ex-pat Aussie, it seems she’s dead keen on scuttling any sweetness she might have once possessed. But enough about Monks’ assets, she can act, and her role isn’t perfunctory, but the movie’s dead in the water even before she attempts her lame lap-dance.
The movie is gruesome in places, and prides itself on trying to push some boundaries, but this is no Frontiere(s) (2007). None of the graphic violence actually works on a gut-level; too much CGI for a start, damn I hate the look of digital gore (I must be getting cranky in my old age) and none of the characters are empathetic enough to warrant any concern over their well-being. William Sadler is pushing shit uphill, and the less said about the other leads the better.
The guts of the plot is summed up rather nicely at imdb.com: A group of young horror fans go searching for a film that mysteriously vanished years ago but instead find that the demented killer from the movie is real, and he's thrilled to meet fans who will die gruesomely for his art. Actually, it’s less a group of horror fans, as one obsessed horrorphile, Tyler (Tad Hilgenbrinck), who coerces his best buddy Lalo (Alex Wyndam) and girlfriend Serina (Janet Montgomery) to help him track down the daughter of legendary “master of horror” (umm, he’s made one feature, how can he be a master??) director Wyler Concannon, whose sadistic masked-killer flick, The Hills Run Red, is considered the most sought after piece of grindhouse celluloid ever.
The daughter Alexa (Sophie Monks) is a junkie stripper, and in an absurdly insipid sequence Tyler commits to assisting Alexa through cold turkey in what seems like a piss-easy procedure. Now she’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, clean as a whistle, ready to do what it takes to get Tyler what he wants. The wonders of a cold shower, huh?
The killer of the movie, Babyface (several Bulgarian actors play him, yes the movie was shot in Bulgaria with an Eastern-European crew and featured extras), is a nasty piece of work, but Leatherface would eat him for breakfast. Of course there are family secrets that need to be brought to the surface of this vile stew (and that’s not wicked vile, that’s putrid vile), but not before everything becomes rather silly and convoluted, preachy and incredibly tedious, culminating in Alexa’s diatribes about her father’s failures as a filmmaker (“No one cares about the sub-textual shit … get to the kill!”) and where the real horror lies. Who cares? The Hills Run Red failed long before Tyler is strapped to a chair in the Concannon private screening room watching raw 16mm footage which somehow miraculously developed itself even though it was only shot moments earlier …
Screenwriters and directors need to take extra-care when they’re making a horror movie that attempts to satirise the genre, or make statements about the “art”. At the end of the long night, these kind of horror movies simply don’t cut the mustard (with very few exceptions). A truly effective horror movie plays the game straight. If it’s bent, it’s because it’s pushed the boundaries convincing, in a genuinely shocking manner, not in motivational or contextual contrivance, not with verbose dialogue that belies the character’s intelligence, not with … ahhh, fuck it, I’ve cornered myself so I end up sounding like a disgruntled wanker.
But the basic truth is; keep it simple. The Hills Run Red tries to be clever as it hides behind a tribute mask, but it wears its intentions on its ragged sleeve. It’s bleeding obvious, it ain’t scary, its ultraviolence is processed, its logistics confused. Did I miss the bloody point? I don’t think so. The DVD cover art is okay, I’ll give it that.
Here's the trailer:
Curiously I discovered a drinking game for those gluttons for punishment:
“This drinking game is to be played with The Hills Run Red and some beer… whatever you can find at your nearest backwoods gas station.
1drink – every time you see boobs
1 drink – every time you see blood
1 drink – every time someone dies
1 drink – every time someone says “The Hills Run Red”
1 drink – every time someone says “Babyface”
1 drink – every time you see Babyface
The Voyeur Special: Drink continuously every time you see the movie through a video camera.”
Y’see, I do have a sense of humour!
| 32 |
| Vote |
Subscribe to this blog




























Comment by Natalina
My Life My Muse
Beta Girl Blog
That just tickled me. Still giggling. I will not waste my time with this film but I'm glad you did, if only so that I could have a much needed chuckle.
Thanks Bryn.
Comment by Bryn
Horrorphile