Oh. My. God. The original 1978 I Spit on Your Grave was probably one of the two most uncomfortable movies I have ever had to sit though (A Serbian Film being the other). It is a rare thing when a remake of the same movie increases the list by one and is right behind the original. The new I Spit on Your Grave trumps its predecessor in every conceivable way (not a compliment). I do not consider myself squeamish, and love a good horror/splatter movie as much as the next guy, but director Steven R. Monroe gives the term "torture porn" a whole new definition (again, not a compliment). Popcorn was not an option. In fact, it's 2 hours later and I'm still not hungry. Hostel is a trip though Wonderland compared to this nightmare.
Sarah Butler (in, I think, her big screen debut) plays Jennifer Hills, a writer who thinks she is "getting away from it all" to continue her writing. She happens to be staying in a cabin, alone, in the woods, miles from civilization. Tell me if you've heard this one before. Apparently, at this time of year, the town she has chosen for her seclusion, celebrates the Hollywood Redneck Association's only official holiday: Rape-a-palooza.......and she has arrived at rape o'clock (you see where I'm going with this). This movie does everything in its feeble powers to give penises and their owners a bad name. The should have called this thing "Rednecks Gone Wild". By the time this movie was.....winding down, i found that I no longer cared about anyone. ANYONE. Yes, even the VICTIM.
Avoid this piece of shit. There are no redeeming qualities to it, period. The "exploitation film" is a genre that has lived its life, please Hollywood, don't resurrect it. The less said about this, the better. End of rant. 3/10.
Join me tomorrow for, hopefully, a better movie: Julia Child's protege in Enchanted. It's gotta be better....it's just gotta.... See you tomorrow, and GO WATCH A MOVIE!!
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