SELLER'S REMORSE

Alison Lohman as a haunted banker in Drag Me to Hell

A largely effective, enjoyably slimy neo-schlock picture from Sam Raimi, Drag Me to Hell takes root at dead center in the vast middle ground that stretches between the modi operandi of the two trilogies that have thus far defined him: the stateliness of Spider-Man and the kitsch-horror of Evil Dead here join forces, although it is the relative restraint of the former that supersedes the crazed, dime store ingenuity of the latter. This tipping of the scales will more than likely make the film more palatable for audiences accustomed to the banality of Spider-Man, but it keeps Drag Me to Hell from realizing the potential for inspired loopiness seemingly promised by both title and author.

Taking modest potshots at the U.S. Banking industry and zero-accountability corporate culture, the plot concerns the ambitious loan officer Christine Brown, played admirably by Alison Lohman, who, in an attempt at gaining favor with her callous supervisor, declines a loan to an aging gypsy woman, and is consequently visited by a vengeful, supernatural curse. While encouraged to identify with the plight of the young, essentially decent former-Midwesterner (Christine is carefully portrayed as a misguided pawn in the corporate hierarchy, sharply contrasted with an unscrupulous coworker) audiences are still treated to the perverse, timely thrill of seeing a banker thrown about her bourgie home by invisible demons or spraying a bloody nose all over her superiors. As Christine’s idyllic life in California begins to fray, she grows increasingly desperate, eventually consulting an astrologer and a medium, seen in prologue being defeated by the same spirits decades before, to cast the goblins out, presumably so she can get back to peddling bad loans and romancing an achingly vanilla blue-blood played by Justin Long.

Over its brisk 99 minutes, we are privy to countless leaking and spewing orifices, insect infestations and violent séances, as Ms. Lohman attempts to rid herself of the gypsy woman’s curse, and therein lay the film’s delights: this is jolly body horror, a happily juvenile (though certainly not stupid) approach to the twin anguishes of embodiment and corporate lending. Fittingly, the film is awash in mucus, blood and vomit (often exchanged between hosts), affirming its lineage of exploitation horror. It is disappointingly dissimilar from its forebears, on the other hand, in that its gags are crafted digitally in several key sequences, giving the bodily fluids (along with the other special effects) a digital sheen that removes any trace of menace from the splatter.

Raimi’s career has thus far been a wild-card, cementing for him an image as a more modest variation on Steven Soderbergh’s one-for-me/one-for-them trajectory: reeling between unassuming efforts such as A Simple Plan (1998) and The Gift (2000) to the epically expensive Spider-Man films (2002-07), his jovial wit behind the camera seems to have no permanent generic home base, which is frustrating for the taxonomically-inclined cinephile. Oddly, he has exhibited much more consistency (in terms of classification at least) in the fifty or so films he’s produced, most of which could easily be squared as horror pictures or (wonderfully) gaudy retellings of classical mythology (1). But whether it’s hacksaws or swords and sandals, Raimi’s trademark is a goofy, chortling sense of humor, unabashedly earnest in execution. The signature is sorely missed in his latest film; a lapse that will, with any luck, be remedied in future efforts.

Shockingly, given its pedigree, the film’s attempts at humor are lifeless and undeveloped, not so much funny as fleetingly amusing. It’s uncertain whether or not Raimi saw the high camp of Evil Dead as risky at this juncture in his career, or simply rushed the picture so he could move on to the next Spider-Man installment. The director does make tentative, if unsuccessful, stabs at the goony slapstick of Evil Dead (a key scene at the end involving a disturbed grave exhibits great potential but yields neither scare nor chuckle) but fails to inject the proper amount of lunacy in these sequences, each of which is far too tight, whereas the Dead films were airy and affable while still managing more than a few genuine scares. This film’s seriousness cannot jibe properly with its oddball wit, to the detriment of the overall result. The film could have worked better played either way – as overtly comedic horror tale or unsettling haunting picture – but Raimi finds himself unable to strike the proper balance in this context, a feat which once was his strength.

Ideally, this thing would hit susceptible audiences late at night on cable television, as it functions better as a pleasant surprise that exceeds mild expectation than it does as a mid-career effort by a Hollywood titan ostensibly at the height of both influence and craft. It has the labored charm of a late-blooming cult classic, and it’s not unlikely that it will be considered as such in the future. As of now, however, it clashes when placed alongside Raimi’s bona fide midnight romps, which still exert power enough to fill convention houses and midnight screenings to capacity. Though financially successful beyond expectation, there is little here to inspire fervent devotion among genre fanatics, and it’s possible that the box office tallies will work against the film as it’s scrutinized by future generations of splatter buffs – not to mention film critics.

Taking into account all of the moronic pictures utilizing 3-D technology that have paraded through theaters during the past few years, it’s a pity that Raimi opted out of employing the latest innovations in multidimensional cinema, as this film is one of the precious few that could conceivably be improved by 3-D: the leaky wounds, pus geysers and dislodged dentures would be the stuff of inspired, William Castle-esque schlock if sent hurtling toward audiences. Such a move could have redressed the effects of the aforementioned glossy carrion on display throughout the film, because, unfortunately, it remains the Achilles’ heel of digital effects that they’re inept at portraying the corporeal or simple detritus, instead casting physical monstrosity in texture-less polygons and thereby sapping them of the ability to frighten and unnerve, the coveted results easily achieved by the same practical effects (latex, pea soup and raw meat) used by exploitation mavens for more than half a century. Computers have been a serviceable facilitator of science fiction for nearly two decades at this point, and they are certainly the future of horror as well, but a premature embrace of the technology and its limited capacities threatens to neuter an old-fashioned, spooky picture like Drag Me to Hell until these practices are up to the task. Perhaps all this film needs is time enough for its unconvincing special effects to signify quaintness, thus endearing it all the more to the horror throng. This is unlikely given the bland characterizations and pulled punches endured throughout this conspicuously PG-13 outing, but the throng can dream… and wait.

Speaking of, Dead-ites and Raimi fanatics will no doubt anxiously await the finished product of Raimi’s forthcoming remake of the first Evil Dead film, but Drag Me to Hell is, unfortunately, a spotty, inauspicious warm-up, one that is hopefully not a harbinger of what’s to come.


Drag Me to Hell / USA / 2009 / Color / 99 min. / Directed by Sam Raimi / Written by Mr. Raimi and Ivan Raimi / Starring: Alison Lohman, Justin Long, Lorna Raver, Dileep Rao and David Paymer


NOTES:
 
1 – The former includes The Grudge (2004), The Boogeyman (2005) and 30 Days of Night (2007), while the latter is comprised mainly of syndicated television series such as Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001), Legend of the Seeker (2008-2009), Hercules: The Legendary Journey (1995-1999), and the forthcoming Spartacus: Blood and Sand. The third Evil Dead film, Army of Darkness (1992), which Raimi directed and co-write, combined elements of both genres quite successfully.