Phantoms of the Year: Steel Trap

Hey kids welcome back for Phantoms of the Year Day 4 and Happy New Year!! While you are nursing hangovers, self-inflicted klutz wounds and horrible drunken texts how about we sit down and enjoy a movie? Or I could write about this steaming pile of donkey crap that pseudo-quasi passes for one. Yeah, remember I was all a grumbly about Life Blood and the vampy jiggly girls? That film is already golden compared to today's drek. No, I will not be objective today. Not after this turd fest of a flick so sit down, relax and enjoy the rant. This is Steel Trap.

Britney's skin peel may have gone too deep.

Not to be confused with the 1952 Film Noir The Steel Trap, our flotsam film hails from the oh so scary Dimension Extreme collection. Those dark, grim, rooted in reality and modern day horrors. What a load of crap.

First off, we get the BS taglines of Surviving each floor is the name of the game... which is a complete falsehood because the cinematic delight takes place on two floors, one of them the party was never contemplating visiting in the first place. This film has all the hallmarks of the typical pick off the jocks and cheerleaders because they were mean to me motif. Maybe they let Jason drown, pick Marty from Slaughter High or push the housemother in the pool via The House on Sorority Row. Whatever the main reason it is sadly one of those Ten Little Indians knockoff revenge stories that this deep and seething hatred has been building to this point. Five people are invited to this shindig along with two party crashers but thankfully neither of them are Vince Vaughn or Owen Wilson.

How did we end up on the set of Motel Hell?

Our characters are poorly conceived as they have to be hip, witty and amusing rather than be written like actual human beings. None of the dialogue's myriad of puns, snarking or witty quips are funny. AT ALL. This is piss poor writing, not a single line uttered sounds natural to be said let alone heard so awkward line are blurted out and the film drags on. Our first three murders actually occur within the first 45 minutes and then we wait and wait for the film's pace car to hit the track. Meanwhile, we have the standardized survivors yelling at one another and playing round robin with blame and accusations on who the killer is. Aside from the personality scribbled on the host's notes for the five these people have no personality whatsoever and if they caught on fire in front of you, you might consider it an improvement in the gene pool. Brought to us by writer/director Luis Camara (Ex Voto Endgame, Steel Trap and Silencio), our film drags more than Festus' bum leg in Gunsmoke, has plot holes roughly the size of Nebraska and the killer looks like he stole Chromeskull's mask from Laid to Rest. Apparently you take Saw, Slaughter High and a pinch of April Fool's Day, drop it in a blender and you get... well three trashed DVDs or VHS. Don't do that. What are you? Foolish? Just don't talk to me now.

Normally this would be the part I would tell you that the blocking was good, lighting and sound were doing their jobs but I really do not want to bolster this film at all. I mean everyone was professional here but the vibe was rush it and get it to print ASAP, pronto, PDQ and give it wings. So if you see this flick cued on your Netflix, come across it on digital cable or satellite, do the right thing and skip it.

Silver Surfer hits the club scene.