Tale from the crypt Open Door
On fresh ground...
There's your grave down there.
Good-bye, sweet, sweet.
"Agatha Christie"
Somewhere below the prosperous American city there are concrete corridors and cellars in which the weary of the Great Depression once hid their rings, bracelets and necklaces. Here is such a discreet scenery for another horror movie, where cute and narrow-minded youth methodically, for an hour with a little, divides into infinity something unclean and ghostly. And to comprehend Zen painting could easily anyone who got acquainted with its title and budget. To whom this information was not enough, it was recommended to read the names of the director and leading artists on one of the many film sites. The Internet resource will helpfully tell you that Craig McMahon is famous for masterpieces such as “The Ghost of Mickey Bullock” or “Reborn by a machine”, which even the bored Quentin Tarantino does not watch. And the campaign team of Sarah Oh, Abra May and Joanna Ke suggests that this is the cast of the next series of products of Private Studio.
Well, if the viewer, armed with preliminary knowledge, still launches a media player, then he will be doomed for the rest of the time to contemplate the naked torsos of those who want to work at least someone on a secondary Hollywood film branch. It is in shorts and vests on the boso body that a group of American slackers descend into the concrete catacombs. Probably, experienced diggers suggested that this is the most comfortable overalls, protecting from the cold of the cellar and accidentally protruding pin. In addition, often our heroes dived into suspiciously clean and warm reservoirs inside a concrete underground bunker. The characters did not shake, goose skin and scratches were not covered, crawling cancer through the abandoned corridor. This is a parallel reality.
And the main danger was not to curl his neck in a dark corner, each stalker brightly burned a flashlight in his forehead and a flashlight in his left hand plus all the time and a slightly dusty electrical wiring allowed to turn on the light under the ceiling. Around every corner was waiting crooked photoshopped because of the minimum budget hologram shabby monochrome gangster of the thirties of the last century. You can't take the damn treasure. And this is the main plus of the artwork. After watching “Indiana Jones” and reading “Tom Sawyer”, a tribe of teenagers (the main target audience of this film) climbed into construction sites and basements, breaking hands and psyche. And the prudent modern generation in the Crypt will find an extra reason not to leave the creaky computer chair in front of the monitor. No jokes about ghosts.
However, those who want to get a dose of Hostel nerve tickling with the sight of torn flesh and scattered intestines will remain very dissatisfied. They spent an hour or twenty waiting - and only a few trickles of blood on carefully decorated makeup faces (which digger climbs into the sewer, without letting down the arrows and without making up his lips). No heavy metal in the extreme scenes, nor the extreme scenes themselves, except grabbing sports ankles from behind with a sham hand. Anguished fans of the acute genre unanimously said “fe” and silently washed down with Pepsi-Cola undernourished air corn in cardboard buckets.
Only one person will survive. Place your bets in advance, gentlemen, by some miracle caught watching this... this. The most worthy occupation, for lack of better.