Prom Night

Many prom nights are filled with over-the-top spectacle, excitement and an air of dying mystery. Director Nelson McCormick's Prom Night is not. Its narration of teens being stalked by a crazy ex-teacher is a miscolored paint-by-numbers movie that lacks suspense, thrills or any illusion of revulsion. How could you blooper the classical setup of a crazy man obsessed with a young woman, predictably the only daughter left animated in the end (the Final Girl for the horror buffs)? It's gentle, just don't care.


Even if McCormick would have through a verbatim, shot-for-shot remake of the sub-par 1980 film of the same name (cough, Haneke), this Prom Night remake would have a stood more of a chance. Instead, McCormick tries to brake drum up scares through loud noises associated with mirrors, plastic tarps, and lamp shades, qualification inanimate objects more terrifying than the killer. The movie is driven by these red herring scares and whatever gore from the murders, which seems to be the only horror that excites these days, is done off-screen. That's non to articulate that buckets of roue would receive saved this movie, just the one time that you in reality sit up and take notice is when blood is spattered against a plastic construction tarp -- the only 30-second dead reckoning McCormick power have been awake piece directing.


As if the exploitation of repulsion clich�s wasn't enough, we also make all the clich�s that make up a coming-of-age teen motion-picture show: "This is the best time of our lives," "This is the last-place time we'll be together," alcohol abuse, and prom night sexual urge. But it's just as half-assed as the attack at suspense. The imitation of MTV-style jump cuts, pans, and tilts on the dance floor is laughable in its inability. It's horror for The Hills generation, where extravagant dresses, place, self-imposed glamour, and self-importance trump scares and depth.


Like the high-gloss confetti that falls on Prom Night's dance floor, there are moments where the motion picture might show the waver of pulse, but you have to be looking for for it. Take, for instance, the moment in the prom-hosting hotel elevator, when 40-something business hands hit on the barely legal teens. It's the epitome of the story, but it lacks whatsoever creepiness or effect and is quickly forgotten, much like the death scene where a stabbing is intercut with dance floor gyrations. The montage is poorly executed and barely happens -- only the tail end of the murder is cut with the dancing, almost by accident it seems.


It's a telltale sign when studios are remake D-list horror flicks that the genre is in trouble. But the movie's existence is our have fault, as we remain to support trash every week at the box office. Prom Night's critical star military rating means nil to the Hollywood remake machine compared to its box office take. Where other remakes such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Hills Have Eyes elicit a sentience of choler, Prom Night brings on cinematic unhappiness. We're one box position weekend away from a remake of Leprechaun.




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