By Rob Scherf
I’m staring at my computer screen and I honestly have no idea what I’m supposed to be writing here. I saw Ginger Snaps 2 almost three weeks ago and every couple of days since then I’ve opened up the ol’ word processor and tried to get down my thoughts about it. The bitch is totally eluding me.
By my count, I’ve written nearly a thousand film reviews since joining the Gauntlet, and I can confidently say this is the first time I’ve been stumped. Is Ginger Snaps 2 a shameless cash-in on its underviewed but apparently critically acclaimed predecessor? Is it the hip satire that it strives to be? Is it a tired failure as a watchable film in almost every way? Or, most frighteningly for critics like me who thrive on the chance to be vicious, is it a movie so abhorrently average that there’s nowhere for me to sink my teeth in?
I guess the short answer is Ginger Snaps 2 is all those things–exactly what I’ve dreaded most since agreeing to sit down and write this review. It’s torturous, you know, to write about the kind of film you walk out of feeling nothing but all-consuming emptiness.
The stonefaced "performance" of "star" Emily Perkins should have driven me to write a witty caption comparing her to the Marlboro Man under the press photo accompanying this article. The horribly conceived "monster" that is the film’s money shot should have prompted a million echoes of King Geedorah-style no-budget disaster flicks. Most of all though, the laughably archetypal supporting characters and writing straight out of the angstiest of teenage LiveJournals should have filled pages upon pages of my trusty notebook with clever barbs deriding such an insult to the craft of screenwriting.
But, funnily enough, Ginger Snaps 2 just isn’t worth that kind of commitment. In fact, it didn’t even drive me to give a fuck. The film’s noxious aura of cliche combined with the disgusting incompetence of its creative team has managed to do the impossible: produce a work so unremarkable that even writing 500 words about it would take a Machiavellian stretch.
Is there any redeeming quality here? Surely there must be. Even the most tepid of films have some silver lining to be gleamed.
Let me think… nope.
Between the murky thematic messages, regrettable child actors, completely random final twists and even a dash of preteen rape, there’s not one thing here that could possibly bring any joy or worth to your cinematic experience.
Unless you enjoy preteen rape, in which case you may like Ginger Snaps 2.
The rest of us, though, will have to wait and see if Ginger Snaps: The Prequel–already in production–will accomplish an even more dishearteningly rote approach to film making.