Relying on a voluntarily poor scenario, this film is a case example of the widespread confusion between parody and pastiche. Whereas parody is actually a very subtle intellectual reappraisal of outdated material, pastiche usually entails the brainless reproduction (and reappropriation) of outdated material. Having a cow performing a Matrix-like slow-motion kick falls in the latter category. And so does an impersonal and unoriginal film such as Hatchet. Popular belief would have you believe that its laughable ineptitute, its slavish reproduction of the 1980s slasher mold makes it parodic de facto, but this is just one of the many unpleasant manifestations of postmodernist blowback. Seeing how self-referentiality alone is systematically tagged as genius, recent years have brought us the whole array of cheap carbon copies in "brilliant homage" clothings such as this. Hatchet is an ill-advised attempt to rejuvenate a dead genre by copying every single element that caused its death.
A group of insipid, generic tourists (drunken college kids, the old couple, the dumb bimbos and the token black dude...) get stranded in a deep Louisiana swamp despite ample warnings by the usual plethora of excentric natives. There, they are bumped off one by one by (wait for it...) a mutant kid the legend had accidentally killed by thugs on a Halloween night long ago. There is nothing much else to add to the skeletal synopsis which tries way too hard to amalgamate every horror cliché in the book. It's actually pretty sad to see such a mad drive toward mediocrity, but from where I stand it seems that the symphony of cash registers was just too enticing and the effort too small for director Adam Green and vets Tony Todd, Robert Englund, and Kane Hodder (the three of which have bit parts) not to try and pull on the nostalgia cord of undiscriminating Friday fans.
As is the case with most movies of this ilk, any hint of suspense has been sacrificed to profit dishonestly orchestrated surprises (i.e. the monster suddenly emerges from out of frame and the volume of the soundtrack is boosted to cause shock through loudness), while atmosphere- making is relegated to smoke machines and carton trees. Basically, every lame set-up in this film is a mere pretext to show brutal (but surprisingly elaborate) gore. It follows that the entire runtime consists of a never-ending succession of chase and execution scenes. The protagonists' psychological superficiality and lack of resources is thus even more regrettable since only characterization could have elevated this above swine. On one hand, there is no real terror but the one you can find in dismemberment and disembowling. On the other, no discourse about violence, and no catharsis. Every protagonist exists solely as cannon fodder. I mean, hatchet fodder...
In conclusion, there is little to say about Hatchet that hasn't already been said about Friday the 13th and its sequels. In fact, it is actually a worse film than any of those since it follows them faithfully and docilely, while loudly claiming its own ineptitude. We should further ask ourselves if such a crowd pleaser should use its five assets (Hodder, Englund, Todd, gore and nudity) so parcimoniously, even stingily. I mean, why bother with a scenario (which sucks balls anyway) when the simple succession of attractive elements (such as in a film like Crank) would have sufficed? I mean, if you're going to make a film wherein the only good thing is gore, then why not do 90 minutes of gore? The answer lies in the fact that, and this is a sad staple of our era, the simple showcasing of any element amounts for the casual moviegoer to its just usage. Thus, a little bit of gore equals gore, and a cameo equals a full-fledged role ("Have you seen David Hasselhoff in A Dirty Shame? He was awesome!") Unfortunately, for lazy moviegoers rise lazy directors and lazy films such as Hatchet... which has surprisingly generated a cult following.
This piece of shit actually won the Public's Prize for Best International Film at Fantasia when at least Special, The Signal, Viva, Offscreen, L'ombre du cerisier, The Girl Next Door, Return in Red, Right at Your Door, Kiltro, Trapped Ashes, Home Sick, Postal, The Devil Dared Me To, Miracleman, The Rage, Dance Machine, Murder Party, Assmonster, Wolfhound, Deaden, Perfect Creature, The Backwoods, The Tripper, End of the Line and many others were head and shoulders above its level.
1/5 An abysmal film with awesome gore.
If by "old-school", you mean Friday the 13th-like, then I'm off this boat...
A group of insipid, generic tourists (drunken college kids, the old couple, the dumb bimbos and the token black dude...) get stranded in a deep Louisiana swamp despite ample warnings by the usual plethora of excentric natives. There, they are bumped off one by one by (wait for it...) a mutant kid the legend had accidentally killed by thugs on a Halloween night long ago. There is nothing much else to add to the skeletal synopsis which tries way too hard to amalgamate every horror cliché in the book. It's actually pretty sad to see such a mad drive toward mediocrity, but from where I stand it seems that the symphony of cash registers was just too enticing and the effort too small for director Adam Green and vets Tony Todd, Robert Englund, and Kane Hodder (the three of which have bit parts) not to try and pull on the nostalgia cord of undiscriminating Friday fans.
As is the case with most movies of this ilk, any hint of suspense has been sacrificed to profit dishonestly orchestrated surprises (i.e. the monster suddenly emerges from out of frame and the volume of the soundtrack is boosted to cause shock through loudness), while atmosphere- making is relegated to smoke machines and carton trees. Basically, every lame set-up in this film is a mere pretext to show brutal (but surprisingly elaborate) gore. It follows that the entire runtime consists of a never-ending succession of chase and execution scenes. The protagonists' psychological superficiality and lack of resources is thus even more regrettable since only characterization could have elevated this above swine. On one hand, there is no real terror but the one you can find in dismemberment and disembowling. On the other, no discourse about violence, and no catharsis. Every protagonist exists solely as cannon fodder. I mean, hatchet fodder...
In conclusion, there is little to say about Hatchet that hasn't already been said about Friday the 13th and its sequels. In fact, it is actually a worse film than any of those since it follows them faithfully and docilely, while loudly claiming its own ineptitude. We should further ask ourselves if such a crowd pleaser should use its five assets (Hodder, Englund, Todd, gore and nudity) so parcimoniously, even stingily. I mean, why bother with a scenario (which sucks balls anyway) when the simple succession of attractive elements (such as in a film like Crank) would have sufficed? I mean, if you're going to make a film wherein the only good thing is gore, then why not do 90 minutes of gore? The answer lies in the fact that, and this is a sad staple of our era, the simple showcasing of any element amounts for the casual moviegoer to its just usage. Thus, a little bit of gore equals gore, and a cameo equals a full-fledged role ("Have you seen David Hasselhoff in A Dirty Shame? He was awesome!") Unfortunately, for lazy moviegoers rise lazy directors and lazy films such as Hatchet... which has surprisingly generated a cult following.
This piece of shit actually won the Public's Prize for Best International Film at Fantasia when at least Special, The Signal, Viva, Offscreen, L'ombre du cerisier, The Girl Next Door, Return in Red, Right at Your Door, Kiltro, Trapped Ashes, Home Sick, Postal, The Devil Dared Me To, Miracleman, The Rage, Dance Machine, Murder Party, Assmonster, Wolfhound, Deaden, Perfect Creature, The Backwoods, The Tripper, End of the Line and many others were head and shoulders above its level.
... I've seen about enough token black guys getting
brutally slaughtered. Hell, gimme Ken Foree!
brutally slaughtered. Hell, gimme Ken Foree!
1/5 An abysmal film with awesome gore.
