Halloween 

It wasn’t as bad as Saw III.

And that is about as nice as I can be about Rob Zombie’s “revisioning” of John Carpenter’s fright classic Halloween.  After I sat through a very long hour and 49 minutes of Zombie’s take on the masterpiece, I was left with one lingering question: Why?

Why would you remake a classic if you couldn’t do it any better than the original?

Why the excessive violence, gore, and gratuitous language?

Why are there so many shots of bare-breasted, bloody women crawling across the floor on their elbows?

Why does EVERYONE bleed from the mouth, even if they’ve only been hit in the knee?

Why did I pay $8.50 to see a Rob Zombie movie when I thought House of 1000 Corpses was a total p.o.s.?

Yeah….why is about the only question I had left after viewing the film, because every other possible aspect of Michael Myers’ dingy, white-trash existence is thoroughly covered in the movie.  There is nothing left to the imagination, which leads me to a very important complaint about horror movies of today: serial killers don’t need back stories!

Honestly, was Hannibal Lecter any scarier when we found out his sister was eaten by Russians?  No.  Was Leatherface any more terrifying when we found out he was a bastard child?  No.  And is Michael Myers any more frightening now that we know his stepfather was a jackass?  No.  In fact, quite the opposite happens, and the killers have a face, have feelings, and intermingle sympathy as well as disgust. 

If I wanted that kind of emotional breakthrough, I’d watch Oprah.  Or go back into therapy.

I want my bad guys scary, dumb, and fast.  I don’t care if their little baby feelings were hurt in school or if their moms didn’t breast feed them.  I just don’t care.  Kill, be killed, and resurrect.  That’s all I ask for from a horror-star.

Halloween gives much, much more…to its detriment.