Movie review: Drag Me to Hell

by John P. Meyer

There's nothing pretentious or pussyfooting around about Sam Raimi's much-trumpeted return to horror, Drag Me to Hell: it's a straightforward, balls-to-the-wall, scare-you-crapless 99-minute tutorial in how good scary movies used to be made - and ought to be made more often.

From its stylish illuminated manuscript opening credits to its Carrie-inspired ending, Drag Me is dedicated to only one thing: making you wet your pants, or leap screaming from your theater seat - or both.

Here's a tip: never steal a necklace from an old gypsy woman. (A young Hispanic kid, played by Shiloh Selassie, makes this mistake in the flashback introductory segment.)

Here's another: never disappoint a cataract-afflicted, gob-hawking, denture-handling old crone who's begging for an extension on her mortgage loan - no matter how much of a pansy it might make you appear the eyes of your boss. Particularly if you shame her in the process.

This is the mistake made by loan officer Christine Brown (Alison Lohman), who's in the midst of a power struggle pitting an upstart new employee (a sniveling, backstabbing Reggie Lee, as Stu Rubin) against her for the position of branch assistant manager. Bank manager Mr. Jacks (David Paymer, dependably self-serving and sarcastic) thinks Stu might have the right stuff for the VP job, given the fact that he's not afraid to make "the tough decisions." Leading to Christine's high-profile smackdown of the (admittedly baseless) extension request submitted by the weird and disgusting Mrs. Ganush (Lorna Raver).

As a result of what turns out to have been a terrifically bad call, Christine begins paying for her toughness that same evening, when she heads for her car in the parking garage. What happens next sets the stage for the level red, relentless, brilliantly conceived mayhem and psychic assault that characterizes the remainder of the movie, as Mrs. Ganush attempts to make literal mincemeat of poor Christine. She (Ganush) becomes the Energizer Bunny of parking lot antagonists, returning to the offensive time and time again when we presume she's done her worst.

(Hell, she's just getting cranked up.)

Following this nightmarish encounter, Christine commiserates with her boyfriend, Clay (Justin Long) - little knowing that wheels have been set in motion that will doom her in three days time. Though she gets a pretty good hint about it during an impromptu visit to a storefront psychic named Rham Jas (Dileep Rao, charismatic and commanding of the screen - definitely an actor to look for in future films), whose palm reading ends abruptly when he glimpses what's behind the young woman's psychic distress.

There's a backstory involving Clay's rich and snobbish parents (presumptive inlaws-from-Hell Chelcie Ross and Molly Cheek), who want more for their psychologist son than a former farm girl from Iowa (or wherever); when they all get together for dinner at the manse, Christine - in the throes of an "only she can see it" sort of evil spirit possession - makes a first impression that will very likely be her last.

(Furthermore, the family cat - named Hecuba - takes an intense, cat-specific dislike to Clay's inoffensive-appearing girlfriend - for excellent cat-specific reasons.)

There are bits of hysteria-laced humor embedded amid the frights and shocks - enough to (falsely) render the proceedings less threatening - and grossouts aplenty in the form of vile spewing fluids and foul hygienic transgressions. But what Raimi does best (and I mean "best" in a global, beyond the boundaries of this particular film sense) is to misdirect our attention in the process of setting us up for THE BIG SCARE - and he does it over and over again successfully, like a master magician repeating a favorite coin trick. It's all in the camera work (credit cinematographer Peter Deming), which demonstrates a level of adroitness seldom seen in the genre - or anywhere else.

The sound - which can reach the level of a sonic assault - plays a major part in these episodic exercises in scarification, as it comes booming and screeching from the auditorium speakers unexpectedly (in accompaniment to the visuals). While we're on the subject of matters aural, credit is due to composer Christopher Young, whose bombastic, operatic score lends dramatic weight to the potentially laughable premise involving a curse and a vengeful demonic spirit called a Lamia.

(Smirk all you want: when the shadow of the beast appears outside Christine's bedroom door, you will want to run screaming to your mommy. And if you don't, there's no hope for you, pal.)

The casting of Lohman in the lead proves a wise decision: she's convincing as a young woman who's capable, fresh-faced and 4-H sexy, yet self-centered and morally overdrawn as only life in the big city can make a person. Whether she ends up getting dragged to Hell or not (see, I'm not telling!), she probably on some level deserves it.

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