Review of I Spit on Your Grave (2010) by George T — 06 Jun 2011

The key word when reviewing such films is disinterest, as opposed to un-interest. Our world is cannibalistic by nature, life devours life, flesh feasts on flesh, virtue and vice are ephemeral social constructs spawned by feeble human imagination; what seems horrifying and decadent to one generation, hardly provokes a yawn to another; gladiatorial conquests and public beheadings might have been the norm in past but they are considered barbaric by modern standards, so by that measure it is virtually impossible to shock a philosopher with gore element alone.

I've seen the worst of them - Cannibal Holocaust . . .Audition . . .The Human Centipede anyone? That said, what intrigues me as a cineaste is the motivation behind the gore, the psychological introspections of the victim as well as the perpetrator alike and from that point of view the original version easily outranks the 2010 remake.

For a start, for such a genre to succeed on any level you need competent acting and direction, which, in the 1978 version was far superior than in the latter; In the original film social commentary on cast-based society was palpable, Jenifer Hills was convincing as Jenifer Hills, the redneck yokels were given dimension and depth, which in turn made their abhorrent actions seem ever more realistic - the rape scene in particular verges on the snuff (on par with Irreversible), and subsequently, revenge was as dark and unsettling as it was ambiguous and plausible.

By contrast, the remake derails from the believable, steers away from the remotely plausible, before finally plunging headlong into the well trodden realms of the pure cinematic - in this case - (s)exploitation.

The villains are virtual cardboard cut-outs, acting is lame, clichés abound. I mean come on! A gun-toting hillbilly forcing his female victim to perform felatio on his barrel! That verges on plain desperate (and juvenile).

Do film makers have the remotest idea of how real life rapists behave? It's sophomore stuff. Heroine doesn't fare any better, Jenifer Hills comes off comical as a perpetrator - she makes Toxic Avenger look more convincing in his rage, and as far as the torture scenes - they are lifted straight from the Hostel (Eli Roth could give a tip or two on how to blend torture-porn with dark philosophical subliminals).

The only novelty was the introduction of the corrupt degenerate Sheriff - someone who is supposed to protect victims - hiding behind 'normal' façade of happily-married-man-with-children, an intriguing dissociation - a sexual deviant and a church going family man - mirrors real life.

Kudos for bravery, but pushing the envelope? Hardly, Steven R. Monroe and writer Stuart Morse could have seized the opportunity to deliver an ultimate assault to our sense of good taste by letting Jenifer loose on Sheriff's wife and daughter; I can see it - Jenifer the madwoman incarnate, a psycho avenger, indiscriminant in her savage lust for vengeance, who in a nihilistic act of ultimate dehumanization slaughtering mother and child in cold blood in front of the culprit - their blood relative, beloved daddy and husband and 'law enforcement officer.

' The audience is left numb with shock, pondering on the final message - that rage makes us blind, that violence breeds on violence and ultimately it's the innocents that get punished through inconsiderate actions of their loved ones.

Now that would truly be pushing the envelope . . .