Hostel

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By Mark Ramsey | 2006/01/09

This just in: A Salt Lake City Pat Robert-stone age theater has nixed the opening of Brokeback Mountain, the Western gay romance.

Said a theater representative: “We aim to keep our kids safe. That’s why we’re cancelling Brokeback Mountain and playing King Kong, Memoirs of a Geisha, Munich, and Hostel. Because our kids need less love between men and more cruelty to animals, subjugation of women, cold blooded murder, drug-laced sex romps, and gratuitous sadism. God bless the family!”

Speaking of Hostel, is it possible that the worst movie of 2006 can be the first movie of 2006?

Why yes! Yes, it is!

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Hostel is “presented” by Quentin Tarantino, which means Quentin used his name to help dupe unwary movie-going chumps by holding this film at a distasteful arm’s length the way one normally holds a particularly vile bag of trash, which is not far off the mark. “I was going to simply crap in a film can,” said Quentin, “but Lions Gate already had that, and it was called Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood.”

The multi-national cast is comprised of unknown names spelled with letters that don’t belong together unless those letters spell “cheap.”

Yes, Hostel is filmed on a budget that couldn’t buy one of Nicole Richie’s twig-like arms. It was shot in the Czech Republic, a place where a buck will buy you an ocean view villa – if only you didn’t have to cross several sovereign nations and a couple thousand miles to find an ocean.

This movie holds the record for the most languages in an American movie without subtitles. Surprisingly, not understanding a word some characters say doesn’t steal from the experience at all – the language of topless is universal.

The women in Hostel come in three flavors:

Variety A: Is putting her clothes on

Variety B: Is taking her clothes off

Variety C: Revels in the absence of clothes and wouldn’t think of interrupting her busy day to bother with them

The fun starts in Amsterdam where hookers perform in blue-lit windows: “This is one kind of blue-light special I never found in the Jaclyn Smith department at K-Mart,” said the next best thing to a star, Jay Hernandez.

Jay, the Lorenzo Lamas of the Frat pack, and his buddies are backpacking across war-torn Eastern Europe in search hostel_headinbag.jpg

of sex – because wherever you find genocide and human misery, a throng of American college students looking to get laid can’t be far behind.

Fortunately, every young lass in Slovakia is beautiful and greets our heroes with open arms and open everything else. These girls are evidently cast for their ability to strip syllables from dialogue as well as clothes from bodies. The cliché “…how you say…” occurs often enough to sponsor its own drinking game.

But then the trouble begins.

These girls, you see, are paid to lure hapless young people into becoming victims of sadistic torture, much like Lions Gate is doing to the audience.

Jay gets trapped in a human slaughterhouse, where the meat is all grade A beefcake. It’s a summer camp for sadists. Tomorrowland, Frontierland, meet Dismemberland.

People get their heads lopped off, they get drilled in the knee, they get their Achilles heel sliced, their fingers snipped, their necks tickled, their noses picked, their Brazilians waxed, their pores dilated, and their colons cleansed.

I don’t know about you, but If I want to visit a sadistic torture chamber I’ll drop in at the DMV.

For a “horror” movie, there is not one second of scares. “Revulsion,” not “horror,” is the goal here.

Case and point: Jay discovers a victimized girl whose eye is left dangling out of her head. And guess what she wants? She wants him to cut it off! It ain’t a hangnail, sweetheart!

“I don’t want my eye dangling,” she said. “Dangling doesn’t go with my outfit at all.”

“Why not tie it over your head and use it as a periscope,” Jay helpfully offered. “Then you could see trouble coming before everyone else – If I had that skill I never would have taken this gig in the first place.”

This movie is said to be inspired by a true story, specifically the story of how writer/director Eli Roth needs to eat and how Lions Gate needs to solidify its reputation as the premier provider of genre films that are best enjoyed after a big-ass blunt.

Said a Lions Gate spokesperson: “It’s a movie for young men who can’t get laid about young men who do get laid but get murdered because of it.”

That’ll teach ‘em.


Photos Copyright ©2006 Lions Gate Films, Inc.

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