I like to think I have a knack for exaggeration. And yet, no matter how hard I strain my brain, I cannot summon any hyperbole to properly relate just how bad WWE Films’ See No Evil is. Every time I rest my fingers on the home keys, they impulsively want to carve forth a ruthless stream of obscenities. You see, this is one of those rare instances where not only do I simply not like a movie, but the act of watching it angered me on a cellular level.
It just may be the worst movie I’ve ever seen.
For the love of God, please do not let this become one of those scenarios where I write an unrelenting, negative review of a film and you, nameless reader, say to yourself, "There is no way this movie can actually be THAT bad? I’ve got to see this for myself!"
You don’t. You really, really don’t. And if you read any portion of this review and still decide you need to, you’re a fucking asshole. I’m used to taking hits for the team, but if I taste test anal leakage, do not go hand money over to the owner of the rectum because you want to see just how rotten the shit itself actually tastes.
I’d apologize for that barrage of anal references (and any fecal references that may follow), but then I saw that Gregory Dark directed not only the 1985 porn classic Between the Cheeks, but also Between the Cheeks 2, Between The Cheeks 3 AND White Bunbusters.
A group of nine or so delinquents are given the opportunity to knock some time off their sentences in exchange for cleaning up a bit of the community. The community here being an abandoned hotel whose level of filth doesn’t exist anywhere on Earth. The walls of New York City’s sewage system aren’t even this dirty. And yet, this hotel miraculously is, and thus we are privileged to watch these
characters bodies attempt to clean 68,000 square feet of vomit stains.
Of course there is only one actual police officer to guard the 9 convicted inmates. And, of course, he only has one hand. See, the other was chopped off in the first five minutes of the movie by a serial killing mongoloid. And he is haunted by the events of that night every time he puts on his prosthetic.
The group has free reign over the hotel, because this hero of a cop is too busy taking shots at the bar. Soon enough they bump into said serial killing mongoloid and his sniper-aimed hook-on-a-chain. And the chaos begins!
Or this is where it would begin, were this production even remotely competent.
It is never scary, completely predictable and dreadfully filmed. The set design is expansive, and, as much as it hurts me to admit it, impressive at times. But director extraordinaire, Gregory Dark, hasn’t the slightest clue on how to utilize the stylish disgust. So it just sits there, stagnating to the point where it is simply annoying to see it take up 97% of the frame.
The deaths are lame, but at least the twist is…not original…but last minute enough to be refreshing. The final death scene, however, is so absurd that to resist laughing is a universal improbability.
And, as funny ‘ole fate would have it, Mr. Dark’s textbook retarded direction isn’t nearly as offensive as Dan Madigan’s script. The most sickening fact here is that not one of the film’s 7 producers had the human decency to euthanize this abortion from the get go. Never before has such stupidity gravitated together in one location, uniting into a Voltron-like amalgamation of intellectual pain.