Severe Injuries (2003)

Posted on Dec 14, 2005 under Comedy, Horror |

Directed by Amy Lynn Best
Written by Mike Watt
Starring
- Charlie Fleming
- Amy Lynn Best
- Robyn Griggs
- Lilith Stabs
- Bill Homan
Produced by Ron Bonk, Amy Lynn Best, and Mike Watt

Oh, the evils which Scream (1996) wrought, or at least which have followed in its wake. Thanks to the knowing way in which it engaged slasher-movie cliches (about half the time, simply following along with them for the other half), just about every horror movie which followed, at least until the Americanization of Japanese horror movies made “straight” horror cool again, had to be self-referential and hip, with a nod to the audience at every juncture.

As if that weren’t bad enough, horror parodies are even worse, because somehow too many horror-spoof filmmakers have gotten the idea that simply winking at one’s self makes the movie unbearably hilarious. It doesn’t.

The back of the Severe Injuries DVD cover contains several laudatory quotes from outlets which regularly review indie horror, such as Film Threat and Unspeakable Magazine. With that kind of positive assessment floating around out there (and the reviews themselves are positive, not just the context-free quotes — I checked), it would appear that I am the odd man out in my negative judgment of the movie, and by sheer weight of the majority voice, I should consider myself overruled.

Fine. Go find an elk or something.

Well, tough. If I didn’t like it, I didn’t like it. And I didn’t like it. And you’re going to hear about it for an entire review.

Our protagonist, such as he is, is one Melvin Hubble (Charlie Fleming), the rotund and nerdly end of a long line of psychotic killers. Or at least, psychotic would-be killers. As both demonstrated by a chase scene through the woods (with Melvin wearing his signature welder’s mask) and confirmed by his father’s (Bill Watt) recitation of family history, no one in their family history has succeeded in racking up much of a body count. Or any body count at all, really; the only successful killers were that one aunt who was adopted, and Dad himself — although Dad’s “trail of blood” resulted from him leaping out of bushes and scaring old people into heart attacks.

Note: The wit on display in the dialog here is passable, but the script isn’t exactly actor-proof, and none of our performers can quite pull it off. And the rhythmless, artless editing ain’t helping things. (Hint: “Editor” doesn’t just mean someone who technically can edit, it also means someone who should edit.)

Feast your eyes, gents!

Melvin does manage to gain his first victim, though, when he hands his father a fork to clear a blocked toaster. Dad’s dying wish is for Melvin to “make him proud” — preferably by a massacre in a sorority house.

Such as, for instance, the Ro Ro Ro Sorority House, which appears to be located so far out of town that the girls would have to commute to campus, maybe by pack mule. Of the winsome lasses about, our three main characters are… um… the blonde one… the other blonde one… and the not-quite-as-blonde one (speaking solely of hair color, not personality). Given that they were all trying their darnedest to play exactly the same character — an overbroad “Like, totally!” sorority bimbo schtick — I didn’t feel called upon to expend the effort required to tell the girls apart.

Here, we find, is yet another pitfall of parody. To be successful, a parody really needs to take as its inspiration a work which is serious, or at least sincere. (Just think of, oh, any parody which you ever enjoyed. That should be proof enough.) And is there any subgenre of cinema which exhibits less seriousness and sincerity than that of “sorority girls vs. slasher”? The entire subgenre approaches parody already; the only way to set a parody of such movies apart from the inspiration is to make everything stupider and more obvious. Unfortunately, “stupidity” and “wit” rarely travel together.

**As you can see, the Severe Injuries premiere was a smashing success.**

Oh, right, the other main character in the sorority house: Lauren (director Amy Lynn Best), a 29-year-old returning student who’s just staying until her apartment renovations are complete. We know she’s Final Girl because (1) she doesn’t talk like a third-generation xerox of a valley girl, (2) she’s studious, (3) she’s plump, and (4) the other girls are mean to her about being soooo much older (though she’s not visibly more mature than most of the actresses playing nubile undergrads).

It is naturally a Friday night, and the girls are planning a party with the bipedal testicles they call their boyfriends. Unfortunately, they have homework this weekend (as delivered in flashback by their dyky professor, played by Debbie Rochon in cameo): to discover the meaning of Lysistrata by freeing themselves from their slavery to the penis. In other words, to abstain for a whole 60 hours. (That Lysistrata’s point was to influence male aggression and assert a social agenda seems lost on the prof; it’s good enough for her that they simply don’t get groiny.) Ooh, can’t you just feel the comedic vibes?

So while Melvin creeps through the house, seeking to finally erase the shame from the family name, the girls and their boyfriends are all sitting around watching chickflicks and trying to find something else to do aside from sex. If the movie’s debt to Scream isn’t already apparent, in general “ironic” tenor if not plot specifics, then the scene in which one of the guys explains to the others “The Rules” for watching chickflicks with the womenfolk should bring it home. The problem, of course, is that the list of rules isn’t particularly funny; the winking self-awareness is, as always, supposed to be humor enough.

And the Oscar for “Least-Tickish Corpse” goes to…

Oh, and to add to “the fun,” there’s a second killer in the house, so Melvin finds himself jealously trying to guard his pool of victims from the interloper. Somehere along here, Melvin emerges as the true protagonist, not because he is in any way endearing, but because his personal success will mean that the characters are all dead and the movie can end.

Eventually… well, eventually, just about everyone dies, including about a dozen people who never show up previous to their turn as dead bodies littering the halls. I don’t suppose that really qualifies as a production gaffe, especially after two we’ve already seen: The clearly-visible hand which tosses the obligatory spring-loaded cat in front of the camera, and the Phantom Production Assistant who’s quite visible in the scene in which Melvin chases a co-ed in circles in the bathroom. The inclusion of both of those, in places where a wee bit of judicious editing could have cured the problem, only emphasizes the fact that irony and self-aware attempts at wit have wholly replaced the desire to make anything approaching an entertaining movie. Cameos by Rochon, Lloyd Kaufman, and Brinke Stevens simply don’t compensate. (In fact, a cameo by Kaufman can almost be seen as a surefire indicator of a movie’s crumminess.)

It just isn’t a soul kiss unless someone ruptures a tonsil.

Yeah, I could be wrong; like I said, plenty of other reviewers found the movie rip-roaring hilarious. But if you choose to watch it and find yourself terminally underwhelmed, you can’t come crying to me.