Some quick thoughts on The Hills Run Red (2009)

Don't you just hate it when you almost immediately realize you probably aren't going to like the movie you just popped in? Enter Dave Parker's sophomoric directorial effort, The Hills Run Red. Despite reading several reviews leaning towards the side of indifference; I felt I owed it to Parker since his The Dead Hate The Living! has its charms. Though I'll be damned if I only disliked these red hills more as the minutes ticked by.

There's much potential in the premise of a fan making a trek to find a twenty-year-old "lost" slasher flick that was so shocking it was pulled from theaters before disappearing into complete obscurity. There are many things that drag this promise down, but at one particular point the "fan" admits to be doing it to find himself by doing something unique no one else has. Now this just spits right in the face of the passion horror fans have. It's not out of the realm of believability for a horror fanatic to do this merely out of wanting to see it and to bring it to the world; especially when you hear choruses of groans from the community when a studio releases a more cultish horror flick in an incomplete form. Of course, considerations of a wider audience outside of "us" were probably taken, but it still annoys.

Aside from that; the script is uneventful, the acting vanilla, and the direction has a bland point-and-shoot quality even though being in 2.35:1 scope. Sophie Monk has that ugly plastic nature to her looks and can barely act. Even William Sadler isn't as dependable as usual; almost as if he realizes how unremarkable everything this film has to offer and decides to let the motherfucker burn. The killer, known as "Babyface", is about the only aspect consistently good with great make-up and the film suddenly awakens when he's on-screen and then falls back comatose once more. Too bad the proceedings aren't terribly bloody to try and at least compensate somewhat for the failings despite the "Content Advisory" sticker on the DVD's cover. Instead of paying homage to slashers and their fans, Parker's efforts fall into that queasy pit of otherwise boring hack 'em ups with fantastic looking slaughterers given a raw deal. Where's Eli Roth's Thanksgiving when we need it?

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