Everyone involved in making The Secret Village did bad and they should feel bad. Very, very bad. If this movie is any indication, they feel nothing. Do you know that person that sucks the life out of a room the minute he or she walks in? The Secret Village is the cinematic version of that person.
Two characters named Greg and Rachel end up sharing a house and investigating something that is either mass hysteria or, possibly, witchcraft in a small town. A bunch of really stupid script writing happens, there’s some really bad editing decisions made, and someone’s idea of what makes something suspenseful gets taken out back and shot. That was the movie I saw.
There’s some attempt at creativity with…I don’t know…time, I guess. But it feels like someone tried extrapolating the idea of “shaky cam” to create something called “shaky time” and it’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.
Plot lines develop, almost. Then never go anywhere. Characters have no personality, no motivation, appear and disappear for no reason. And the soundtrack? I can’t even anything about the soundtrack.
Now, the movie the director/producer/actors/etc. wanted me to see is another story. What that story is, I cannot begin to comprehend based on what I saw and heard.
There are some bad mistakes that not even a rookie would make. Like placing a call with a cell phone and, instead of hearing the standard tone you’d hear from the earpiece, you hear the recipient’s ringtone. I’d expect something like that in something from the Scream franchise. But as a point of humor. Not as a serious moment in the movie. The characters cast as the “bad” guys, are so freaking inept at being threatening that it is almost humorous. But it’s not. It’s just apathetic.
My ability to enjoy a movie in the moment and not try to figure out the ending was completely thwarted by this movie. Being generous, I had it figure out in 30 minutes. And was sorely disappointed to be right.
If you could extract the the dullest parts of ennui, boredom, lethargy, and mediocrity and combine them into some new even more listless sensation, you would still have something more exciting than this movie.
You could give a six-year old child a film editing machine (don’t do that!) and access to Plan 9 From Outerspace, Birdemic, and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. That kid would put together something more compelling than this movie. Hell, you could have the kid’s movie dubbed into Swahili and then have that translated and subtitled into Swedish and that would make more sense than The Secret Village.
This Apartment 1303 is a U.S. remake (that term is used very loosely) of a Japanese movie by the same name and an excellent example of how not to make a horror movie. Read this review. Then watch the Japanese one.
One of the criteria of making a horror movie is…um…horror. And it’s, you know, right there in the genre name. It would appear that some movie makers need help with remedial reading because the cover art/poster for this production is scarier than anything in the movie. Admittedly, it is possible that, some time in the last few days, the definition of “horror movie” changed and now means “a movie we made while simultaneously studying for the California bar exam and discussing Keynesian economics”. They also tacked on an “in 3D” – I guess to try and sell it. But even in 3D, it would have only been one more dimension of awful. Fortunately for you, I watched it in 2D and was only able to absorb two whole dimensions of awful.
The movie is set in Detroit. This movie did you no favors, Detroit. Especially as it was filmed in Montreal and the exterior shots did look nice. Why Detroit is the setting is unknown. Location doesn’t really play any role in the film – outside of the apartment. It could have been set in Montreal.
In addition to Detroit or Montreal or whatever, the movie also stars Rebecca De Mornay as Maddie Slate. Maddie is an award-winning singer (we can tell from the gold record clock next to the fireplace that’s in nearly all of her scenes) and abusive drunk with two daughters: Janet (played by Julianne Michelle) and Lara (played by Mischa Barton). In one tiny bit of originality, I’ll give the movie credit for making the abusive drunk parent a woman.
The movie starts with 24-year-old Janet moving out of the house into her OMG MY FIRST APARTMENT EVAR! An apartment which, from the exterior, looks like a housing project (which is supported somewhat by the lobby and elevator interiors). But apartment 1303 is fabulous (really, it is – in the context of what the rest of the building looks like)! And it’s only $750 a month!
So, Janet moves in. Then there are some scenes of Lara and abusive drunk mom. Then we’re back in Janet’s apartment where she pathetically implores her boyfriend (secret undercover cop!) to come over. At which time they engage in one of the worst sex scenes ever that, basically, involves them knocking over cheap furniture, Janet saying sexy things like “Oh, I’ve been a bad girl. I deserve to be punished”, etc. The scene is unnecessarily violent. Probably as some weird attempt to let the audience know that these kids have real Passion-with-a-capital-P. It is also unnecessarily disturbing for some reason. Maybe the actress looks too young. And it doesn’t tie into the movie otherwise. Just your random sex scene that isn’t sexy, isn’t well done, isn’t necessary, and isn’t something I want to see again.
Afterward, asshole boyfriend leaves and Janet takes a header off the balcony. And you realize you don’t mind too much because you just didn’t like her any way. At this point of the movie, most viewers are thinking, “Great! Now maybe we can get on with some horror stuff!” The rest of the viewers have shown good sense and left the country entirely.
Then there’s more stuff with drunk mom. Who, at one point, sings a bit of some song she wrote for now-dead-Janet. Remember: she’s supposed to be a successful award-winning singer <insert shot of Maddie with gold record clock in background here> with oodles of money, so why they thought Rebecca De Mornay could (or should) sing is one of the biggest horrors (and mysteries) of this movie. Of course, in the last few days, the definition of “successful, award-winning singer” could have changed to mean something like “here let me swallow some razor blades and Jim Beam and croon my heart out to you”.
Then Lara (pronounced, variously throughout as “Laura” or “Lara” – who knows…let’s blame Montreal!) who is penniless and seems to have some job as a waitress (and let’s randomly throw in some allusions to either mental or drug problems) decides to move into Janet’s place because “I wanna know what happened to may baby sister!”. (Lara is older than Janet, and Janet was 24. Yet it’s Lara’s bedroom at home that looks like she’s 13 and has cool shit like “Love is punker than punk” in some faux artsy-fartsy way above her bed. Maybe Lara never grew up – even though she looks ridden hard and hung out to dry? The director never explains so why care?)
Well, some spooky stuff starts happening – basically just noises and “ewww – what’s that smell?” (welcome to Detroit, honey). Somewhere along the way, we find out some mother and daughter died in the apartment and are haunting it because they don’t want anyone else to live there. (Seriously? A mother/daughter ghost team? Haunting an apartment in the projects? IN DETROIT? Talk about suspension of disbelief.)
Naturally, Janet’s boyfriend/undercover cop decides to help out Lara because there’s just not enough real crime in Detroit…or something. More shit happens, he goes over the balcony. Or gets stabbed. Or maybe just walks off the set in disgust. I don’t remember. Because I was given no reason to care for him. Or any of the other characters.
More shit happens and Lara gets arrested for murder because “apartments don’t kill people, people kill people”. OH MY GOD! Thank you for clearing that up for me. And to think of all the time I’ve wasted trying to outlaw apartments because of the hideous acts they perpetrate on people – hideous acts like this movie.
A dull, hacky retread of stuff that isn’t even scary or suspenseful – this is one movie that won’t automatically exercise your kegels. Bland movie, bland characters, nothing’s sufficiently explained (unless you count “the entire floor is haunted” as an explanation), some nice exterior shots of Montreal. That’s about it.
The only rating I can give this movie is: baby-poop brown. Because that’s the only thing that comes to mind when thinking about it.
This movie is highly recommended if you happen to be an alcoholic, washed up singer in Detroit who is considering becoming a mom. Or if your moving to Montdetroit or Detroitreal or whatever.
If you hate realtors and love Adrienne Barbeau, you must watch Open House. And I do love Adrienne Barbeau. Always nice to see her show up (as with her recent turn on Sons of Anarchy – short-lived thought it may have been).
Adrienne plays a successful realtor. This is late 1980s Hollywood so women realtors are, naturally, a threat to everything!
Her boyfriend is a therapist who hosts a radio call-in show. He is all about “protecting the callers’ privacy”. Because calling into a radio therapist (if he’s even a doctor I don’t know) is of course clearly protected by doctor-patient privilege although all 38 of your listeners heard the conversation in public. It’s just good TV.
And someone is killing all the realtors!
Lots of bad acting, lots of really odd gay references that made me wonder what the hell was going on with that (as in: “is someone just randomly casting his boyfriends?”), the soundtrack is an amazingly muddied bunch of weirdness ranging from elevator music to 70s porno track, the acting is overdone, the special effects aren’t very good, the story makes no sense.
So, if you hate realtors and you love Adrienne Barbeau, you’ll probably like this movie. Probably. No guarantees.
If you only mildly dislike realtors and think “who’s Adrienne Barbeau”, you probably won’t like this movie. Probably. No guarantees.
If you enjoy condiments with your food, you probably won’t like this movie. Probably. No guarantees.
If you’ve recently inhaled oxygen into your lungs, you probably won’t like this movie. Probably. No guarantees.
If you like seeing an overweight bully realtor try and take on Adrienne and her agents and who ends up in a dog collar while taking a whiz before he’s killed, you might like this move. Probably. No guarantees.
The killer turns out to be something of a surprise and, since I know you’ll never watch this movie if you haven’t already seen it, the killer is a homeless guy (I did not know there were homeless people in the 80s, so I did learn something <sarcasm tag>) who moved into a home that wasn’t really abandoned, but it wasn’t occupied either, and then “those damned realtors—oh you realtors!!! <angry fist>” tried to sell his house and he had been “taking good care of it”.
So it’s about homeless people having the right to move into homes that aren’t occupied and, if a realtor tries to sell it, to kill all the realtors in creatively stupid ways.
I did not understand this movie. It was mildly entertaining. I blame the laundry fumes.
What would you have if you had a movie made by recent graduates of an Eastern European art/film school that were named Gunther, Dagmar, Fritz, and Schotzie? Not their real names AFAIK. (Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Void where prohibited. Some assembly required.) Why, you’d have something like Errors of the Human Body. Something Netflix kept throwing up at me as a recommendation. (Oh, Netflix! You crazy kid, you.) After watching it (while doing chores so I might have missed a vital bit of dialog that adds sense to this mess), I imagine the development of the film went something like this:
Gunther: I vill direct! It vill be set in a university in Dresden. American doctor whose babby son died from a rare juhnetick disease vill come to Dresden und help zee university’s juhnetick program. We vill show his American happy life in zee soft-focus flashbacks wiss zee happy pregunant vife. Zen zee babby tumors und no no more of zee happy.
Dagmar: I vill assistant direct! Oh he must have zee lover interest und she must have freckles und no one vill wear makeup so we can see her freckles. Und zee pony tail! Und she needz zee pony tail!
Fritz: I vill be best boy! Zee bad guy must not be too obvious. But he must be bald und looken like zee albino und have zee buggy eyes. Und zee freckle girl will have had sex wis him but she vill lie about it.
Schotzie: I vill make zound effects wiss my armpits! Farfergnuggen! You all have forgotten zee important tings. We need a scene wiss zee Yooropian siren sound und vee must show zee modern underground rail station!
Gunther: Yah! We can throw zem in at zee end. We must not forget a decadent party scene wiss peoples in costumes of creepiness. Vun of dem vill be zee bad guy’s assistant und he vill be a trahnsvestite at zee party und he must look at zee American und suck seductively on a straw. Und, zen, in zee ironical tweest zee American will get zee diseeze of his babby but he vill be also the cure which will be like arthouse movie sad because no more babby. Und a mouse virus. Mouse virus very popoolar now.
Dagmar: Oh yah und zee trahnsvestite should look like zat Frankenfurter guy from zee Rocky Horror so Americans vill know heez trahnsvestite!
That’s pretty much the only way my brain can parse getting all of those frantasically glorious details shoved into 101 never-ending minutes of cinematography.
The best thing about this movie: it ends (although I spent the last 20 minutes thinking “would you die already, jeesh”).
The worst thing about this movie: there’s something to dislike for everyone!
A woman (Charlotte) marries a guy whose first wife died. Maybe. Is she trying to kill Charlotte? Is Charlotte trying to kill her? Who cares (yes, you already don’t care when stuff actually starts to happen)? Is she crazy? Could it be wormholes something something time folds in on itself or something as proposed by some half-rate physicist or math teacher or something? (The explanation may have caused me minor brain damage. Apologies to you.) Time passages make no sense. How are they living in such swank digs in a part of some city that doesn’t even get snow plow service? WTF with the door/maintenance man? Did all these people have sex with each other? Why don’t they want her to leave? What the hell is going on with his chest hair? Does he even have a job? Is there going to be a lukewarm lesbian moment? Thankfully, you care so little that you don’t care if you find out. Yes, this movie makes you care less! It achieves the impossible! You could care less, but you can’t even be bothered to care to begin with. Too bad they couldn’t convert that to perpetual motion.
The oddest part of this movie is what they use for a segue. Some white guy in some craptacularly ugly hat playing the fucking saxophone. Him, saxophones, music, the places at which he’s located, etc. have fuckall to do with the movie. It’s like a third-grader’s version of “let’s add some artistic vision”.
You know that sax piece Lisa Simpson plays at the beginning of each episode of The Simpsons? It’s like that. Except, instead of having a week between hearing that earwax-blasting cacophony, you get maybe 15-20 minutes before you’re faced with more failed attempts at aural pleasure. And the segues aren’t even really segues. It defies explanation, comprehension, or even reality. Hell, it doesn’t even represent the time folding thingy thing. At least not in any comprehensible way.
This movie is recommended for anyone who has been on a three-day bender featuring copious amounts of meth, peyote, cocaine, PCP, Jagermeister, multiple cases of Colt 45, several shemale prostitutes, Charlie Sheen, David Spade, and a colon cleansing AND you still think “Man. I am just not fucked up enough.”
At The Hoosies 
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