Okay. Let’s get this out of the way right now. I’ve often abhored parents who take their children to see so-called horror films. I’m not talking about their teenaged children, here. I’m talking about infants, toddlers, kids that are barely in kindergarten yet. So, this morning when I took my normal spot just below the projector in the back row and a family with three young children sat beside me I was a bit taken aback. I left my coat in my seat, thinking perhaps I’d wandered into the wrong theatre. Hey, it happens. But the readerboard read “12 – Drag Me to Hell – Now Seating.” So, I climbed the stairs up to the back row and took my seat. Still, as their infant child began to cry, I had to wonder if maybe they’d made a mistake too. After all, Night at the Museum was showing next door. I should have left it alone, but I kept thinking, “Do they realize they’re taking their kids to see a film called Drag Me to Hell?”
That brings me to my next point. Can anything Sam Raimi do be considered horror in the way we’ve become familiar with calling certain films horror films? I’m thinking now of the Saw and Hostel franchises, bloody, gruesome films hellbent on making you terrified by showing you, in every graphic detail, the mutilation of the human body both pre- and post-mortem. And the answer is, no. Sam Raimi, who by all rights is in his own league, cannot make a “horror” film. No, he manages to take audiences to a completely altogether different place. A place in which you can feel free to get comfortable, laugh, cringe a little, be mortified by the pervasiveness of oozing bodily fluids, and yes, sometimes be scared.
Read the rest: flixsation.com’s Drag Me to Hell review.