Last House on the Left

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By Mark Ramsey | 2009/03/15

You know an actor is too skinny when she needs to be anchored to a director’s chair between takes.

“Somebody, put a rock on my lap,” asked Sara Paxton, the star of Last House on the Left. “Quick!”

“Just grab the boom if you start blowing away, Sara,” advised director Dennis Iliadis, bracing for complaints from the crew that anchoring flying actors was a clear violation of union rules.

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“It’s called the Katie Holmes clause, read it!” said a disgruntled dolly grip with the kind of snarl that can only come by negotiating a clause named after Mrs. Tom Cruise and can only come from someone whose screen credit has the word “dolly” in it.

Sara’s the girl who gets in too deep and may not emerge with her life. She’s also the girl who never lets a fork get too deep into her mouth before spitting out whatever foul substance might be on it. No wonder her tshirt says “Mischa Barton is a fat pig” and her license plate frame reads “Food is a four-letter word.”

Will she escape her good-looking scumbag captors and return to her diet of Jamba Juice and cud? Or will Maureen McCormick slide up alongside her, begging you to sponsor her for just 32 cents a day.

Yes, it’s the last house on the left of eating disorder lane – coincidentally also the home of the last Botox on the left.

Here’s where you can find the finest noses money can buy and kitchens modeled after places where anthropologists suggest people once consumed food.

Into this scene wafts trouble – and the stench of somebody’s latest purge.

“Sara still wears a training bra,” says director Iliadis, “although what’s the point of training if you never have to compete?”

I had an interview with Sara all set to go, when a wind gust blew her out towards Catalina and the Coast Guard scrambled in hot pursuit.

Welcome to that alternative universe where cute and perky girls go to a weirdo’s dumpy motel room because he says his drugs are just that good. Listen, when a motel’s sign spells “HBO” phonetically, get your drugs somewhere else.

Yes, that alternate universe where creepy, dangerous strangers knock on your door in the middle of the night – and you put them up in your guesthouse!

Sara and her gal-pal are kidnapped by the bad guys, but not before she brands one with an auto cigarette lighter to the head.

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“That will scar!” the victim shouts. “And it is also likely to spark some ideas!”

Last House on the Left is hardly for all tastes, although it pales in comparison to the sadistic indignities of the original. Still, it’s uncomfortable to watch – and if I want to watch something uncomfortable I usually watch CNBC.

That said, if you want to see bad guys get their comeuppance (which only happens in the movies nowadays) then look no further than the Last House on the Left.

And direct donations of food to Sara Paxton’s agent courtesy of Maureen McCormick.

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