I Spit on Your Grave

I'm going to start this review by expressing my resentment of the original "I Spit on Your Grave." Meir Zarchi's 1978 video nasty was, in my opinion, a sick, vile waste of film that existed for the sole purpose of shocking and revolting wincing viewers. I've despised it ever since I caught it while surfing through the channels of my Sky Box, and my loathing of it has never ceased to grow. These feelings may not carry on to the modern-day remake, but there are echoes of them bouncing off the walls of occasional scenes.

Steven R. Monroe's redo of the appalling men-are-bastards shocker retreads the same steps as its subject material -- it just does them slightly better. Its objective is still to disgust, to outrage, to upset off-guard audience members, and, while it achieves this abhorrent aim with some creativity thrown in, it's still a load of rotten garbage.

The film begins with 20-something Jennifer Hills (Sarah Butler, "Flu Bird Horror") driving on her own to the middle of nowhere in Hillbilly-ville. She doesn't watch many horror films, does she? She's planning on staying in an isolated cabin in the woods to write away in peace and tranquillity, all by her lonesome. Well, she's got a bit of a shock coming to her.

On her way to the secluded, spooky house of death, she encounters Johnny (Jeff Branson, "The Young and the Restless") at a gas station. The hulking hick tries his moves on the lass, but she has none of it, embarrassing him in front of his hick pals. As Jennifer resides in the wooded lodging, Johnny and his best buds strike up a twisted plan.

They break into her house at around 4:00am, scare her, torment her, and finally rape her, one by one. After over 30 minutes of this (I'm not kidding), the abused girl wanders away from the group (which includes a sheriff) and plunges into a nearby river before they can shoot her dead.

They search the banks of the river, but cannot see any sign of Jennifer, dead or alive. They go back to their daily business as if nothing happened, while still regularly studying the creek to no avail. Little do they know that Jennifer is cooking up her own brand of leg-snapping, eye socket-hooking, penis-chopping punishment, watching their every move, and waiting.

"I Spit on Your Grave" is a sadistic film, the kind of ghoulish exploitation that should not be encouraged. I don't usually mind rape scenes, as squalid they may be, but the one (or two, or three) contained within this unpleasant confusion of morals discomforted me to no end. You may say this was the intention, but it doesn't make for a satisfying film-going experience, no matter how you look at it.

When Sheriff Storch (Andrew Howard, "Revolver") has poor Jennifer bent over on the ground, her face in a puddle, her bare ass sticking in the air, the lawman unzipping his trousers and saying to her, "I'm an ass man," you'll chop your own balls off with a pair of garden shears and stuff them in your mouth out of shame for being a man.

The gang-rapists are especially loathsome (all played as snarling rednecks), and to see them have some DIY justice inflicted on them is sweetly delightful, but ultimately Jennifer's bloody vengeance is a little too cartoonish. She sets up intricate traps like The Jigsaw Killer, a little too far-fetched when compared to the realism of Jennifer's repeated violation. It goes for thrills and schlocky, almost humorous horror, feeling like a cop-out in comparison with earlier violence.

The muted and bleached colour scheme that covers the screen is haunting, as is Corey A. Jackson's eerie music as Jennifer travels to inevitable anguish. I'll admit that the film is well-made; Monroe's direction is unnerving and suitably gloomy, but one cannot help but be put off by the film as a whole.

"I Spit on Your Grave" is a rare example of a remake that surpasses the original, but it's nonetheless something to gag at. It's depressing, a film that makes one despise humanity, and is altogether too stomach-churning. Why anyone would pay to watch this filth, I do not know.

4/10