Hostel

Torture is the new Samara. Looks like the sopping ghostie girl is on her way out, and blood is gushing in: in the past few months, torture-themed horror films have warmed the cockles of our black hearts more than any other. The critically acclaimed Sin City, The Devil’s Rejects, Saw II, and Wolf Creek all featured scenes of unflinching, cringe-inducing, painful suffering.

Hostel is the first “ouch!” horror movie of the year, ushering in what can only be a very painful year in cinema (coming soon: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Prequel, The Hills Have Eyes remake, and many more featuring sadistic antagonists). The movie, as you probably already know, is director Eli Roth’s follow-up to his 2003 debut, Cabin Fever. The jokey gross-out fest Cabin Fever got very mixed reviews — and rightly so; it was a pretty uneven movie.

Hostel is uneven too, but I rather like Roth’s unpredictable style. In the beginning, and quite frankly throughout most of the film, it feels like a horny boys’ road trip comedy. Out the gate with a beautifully artistic shot, we first meet our three heroes partying in Amsterdam, smoking weed in a café and ogling scantily-clad women. Americans Paxton (Jay Hernandez) and Josh  (Derek Richardson) are enjoying a final fling before having to settle into college life back home. They’ve met up with the affable Oli (Eythor Gudjonsson), a 30ish Icelandic drifter who knows the hedonist lifestyle inside and out.

Later that night, through a haze of pot smoke and the smell of sex, the trio hears about a fabled hostel way out in Bratislava where the girls are hot, horny and will jump on any man with an accent. That’s all Paxton, Josh and Oli need to hear. They hop a train (where they meet a very strange man who will, of course, turn up later), then take a derelict taxi out to what looks to be the middle of nowhere. But the stories were true: The hostel is full of wild, willing women, and hookups are quickly made. (As a woman, my only complaint is that one never sees what a female’s hostel paradise might be. This movie is totally through boys’ eyes.)

I won’t give too much more away except to say that eventually the horror part of the movie does come, and it’s wicked. It’s not as gruesome as The Devil’s Rejects nor is it as depressing as Wolf Creek, but Roth wrote and directed these scenes with a style all his own and he works it to the breaking point. The torture scenes aren’t tame by any means, but you think you’re seeing more than you really are. Also, they’re very cinematic — that’s the kind I, personally, prefer. I don’t need full-on, snuff-film realism.

Roth and composer Nathan Barr have made some very offbeat, unusual musical choices for Hostel. Sometimes it’s overbearing and annoying… yet oddly appropriate. It’s one of the most unique soundtracks I’ve heard in quite awhile. The cinematography, by Milan Chadima (with “additional” photography by Shane Daly), is gorgeous but not overly flashy. Fantasy flirts with gritty reality in almost every scene. The acting is excellent, as well. I really couldn’t imagine another player in any of the roles; they are very believable. Hernandez ably carries the bulk of the load, but Gudjonsson and Jan Vlasak steal every scene they’re in.

Look for lots of asides and insider nods — homage to The Wicker Man as The Sneaker Pimps cover of Britt Eckland’s “How Do?” plays; Audition director Takashi Miike cameos as a bloodthirsty businessman; Paxton and Josh chase a coat-clad character ala Don’t Look Now, and so on — but watch for what’s all Roth, too. It’s a promise for the future. The movie is better-directed than Cabin Fever and while some will undoubtedly point out a few missteps, I was never bored. Roth even made the horribly overused, almost de rigueur upchuck scenes make sense and for once, I thought they were appropriate and well-done. For those needing social commentary and character development, Hostel’s got those, too.

Unfortunately, there’s the stink of desperation surrounding the Hostel ad campaign. “Presented by Quentin Tarantino”; what does that mean, exactly? Inspired by true events; Yeah, right. TV ads with a smoky-voiced announcer warning that audience members have fainted at test screenings. The fact it’s being dumped in January’s wasteland of bad movies doesn’t help, either. For once, all of this means nothing. Yes, there are a couple of over-the-top, whacky scenes (I’m talking to you, Rick Hoffman) but ultimately, they fit.

If you’re looking for a scary movie to see this weekend, you’ve got BloodRayne (fantasy), Munich (real-life), or Hostel. My advice? This one is your passport to terror — think of it as going to Misery-Land. Slide in, belt up, and hang on: Hostel is the horror movie equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride!

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Reviewed by Staci Layne Wilson