Darling of the web, peatree Bojangles, kicks off her new weekly feature on CV with her Netflix nasties: a collection of some of the worst best worst films around.
Nine Dead
While flicking through the unknown horror titles on Netflix, I came across one that caught my eye. Nine Dead starring Melissa Joan Hart. You heard me, Sabrina the Teenage Witch. How magnificent! More than anything in the world, I wanted to see what she looks like so I can quite frankly mock her while cackling at my many cats. Which always ends badly as I have no cats.
The film itself is about a hooded man who kidnaps a bunch of seemingly unlinked individuals although one similarity I noticed was their spectacularly bad ‘skills’ in acting. He tells them he has captured them all for a reason and they have to figure why. He will, though, come in every 10 minutes and kill someone until they do. Basically, it’s a Saw film.
The first scene has strippers and tits, so I know I’m going to love to hate this straight away. Instantly, I find myself declaring that ‘this is edited by a blind, fingerless, drunk 3 year old and I fucking love it’. I pour myself another glass of wine, some of which graces my cleavage and a tiny tear falls down my cheek. Everything is perfect right now.
The characters are a lawyer, a priest, a small time actor, an illegal arms dealer, a pervert, a police officer, a health insurance thing, a Chinese woman, and the black guy who’s a thief! Surprise, surprise. The black guy is a thief. No, let’s not give him a job like all the other characters. The black guy must be a thief. It must be believable. The suits are sitting round a large table, but it’s not a table. It’s an ice sculpture of that time they opened a door for a woman and declared themselves a relevant ‘man’ of society. A poor attempt to sweat themselves into a state of political correctness. It’s okay though, they say ‘nigger’ in the film, so they’re down with the kids.
They start figuring out their connections and we see some flashbacks of all the awful things they’ve done. Now this is when Melissa Joan Hart tries to act, as her drooping jowls flop toward the ground. Every time she spoke my buttcheeks clenched so hard I nearly inhaled the sofa. WHERE’S SALEM?! I find myself screeching; the wine now a stain across my whole body.
I won’t give the film away for you because it’s awful and no one should watch it. Any hope of childhood recollection is lost within minutes of seeing her dead eyes glare at you while she delivers a throw-away line on human vulnerability. The story is based on a connection which has you feel a similar disappointment to when you wake up before your alarm, eagerly grab your phone to see how many more hours you have in bed, and the distinctive buzz then reverberates through your hand. ‘WAKE UP’ it screams, ‘YOUR LIFE IS NOTHING. YOU ARE NOTHING. WHY EVEN GET UP’. That is what the film feels like.
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