Evil Dead

SPOILERS AHEAD. “Feast on this, motherfucker”, or “Why Men Don’t Understand Witchcraft and Why Women Shouldn’t Play with Electric Knives”. When this absurdly phallocentric horror movie turns into a “feminine” rape revenge flick at the end – using a quote from Carrie – that is the last of a plethora of extraordinary inconsistencies in content (as opposed to the filmmaking craftsmanship on display, which remains constantly at a high level). Evil Dead gives the impression of being a film by at least two directors, or rather multiple screenwriters (which it actually is), each of which took their own approach to Raimi’s original. Some of them are obliging toward horror fans, attempting to step out of the genre in a post-modern way and to make fun of the banality of slasher flicks. The others, who unfortunately had the last word, conversely slept through several decades and loaded the film down with terrors long past their sell-by date – fear of sexually transmitted infections (a curse passed on through bodily fluids) and of the wilderness, specifically a forest (which in the climax is ironically conquered using a non-environmentally friendly chainsaw). This disjointedness is directly personified in the film by the two male characters, who represent two possible types of viewers. David is prone to sentimentality and regrets every bruise. He lacks a sense of detachment. The rational Eric, on the other hand, remains above things, because he has read the book (everything has been written already). Like a knowledgeable horror-movie viewer, he has also read the source work, he knows what to expect and, together with the cynics in the audience, he is derisive of his friend’s oversensitivity. Both of them are necessary. If David doesn’t adhere to the horror clichés in his behaviour, the film would end a few amputations early, which we bloodthirsty viewers would not accept. Through Eric, we are simultaneously made aware that one the film’s creators ranks among the knowledgeable and sympathises with the community of horror fans. Surprisingly, the one who comes out on top in the end is neither of them, but rather the representative of the previously, mostly passively suffering (and, as the case may be, self-mutilating) gender. The delay in equalising gender strengths compels us to atypically redistribute our empathy to the body, which has caused others so much unpleasantness.  (With respect to the body and carnality, it’s worth mentioning that the men in the film are usually penetrated by something – pellets, a needle, nails – whereas the women lose body parts – head, arms, legs; the Freudians can analyse and interpret that however they like). Thanks to the unsatisfying culmination of the drug storyline, we also retroactively become witnesses to the harshest withdrawal scene from Trainspotting. The unclear creative direction has unintentionally given rise to the subgenre of melodramatic horror, in which tumultuous family relationships are almost given greater care than the burning of witches and other forest activities (besides the gore scenes, the melodramatic “excessive” also refers to the spectacularly postponed reconciliation between the brother and sister). What can we learn from this very inconsistent film? The soul is more important than the body and drugs make you hoarse. Appendix: I definitely would not use the twice presented “medical” procedure of putting adhesive tape on anything that bleeds. 65% (2013-04-04) (less) (more)