John’s Horror Corner: Hostel III (2011)

MY CALL:  I’m not denying that I was entertained, but I’ll never watch it again.  In fact, this movie was recommended by a friend of mine.  I’m currently re-evaluating that friendship.  LOL.  Skip it.  But surely watch parts I and II if you haven’t seen them.  They’ll cauterize the gaping wound this flick inflicted on you.  Only for decent acting and production value, and maybe a few giggles, do I give this a direct-to-DVD “C-.”  WHAT TO WATCH INSTEAD:  Hostel (2005) and Hostel II (2007), by all means, have the gore and intensity you wanted to see when you rented this by accident.  I’d also refer you to franchise flicks from Saw, Cube and, if you like to laugh at your sick gore, then Tokyo Gore Shock and many of my 1980s installments of John’s Horror Corner.

“Oh, man.  We are in no way trying to look like those guys from The Hangover!

In Hostel (2005), Eli Roth (writer/director) spun the story of an Eastern European Mom’n’Pop farmhouse business where private members would pay top dollar to torture American tourists.  Like any murder movie of the time, it was told through the eyes of the victems.  Roth (again, writer/director, and now characters/producer) changed things up a little in Hostel II (2007), in which the viewers got a taste of the abductors’ and torture club members’ perspective.  For extra flavor, Roth peppered in some international membership from America played by Roger Bart and Richard Burgi, two upperclass white family men.  I doubt that it is any coincidence that both of these actors were from Desperate Housewives.  In this third installment Roth has little involvement—only a character writing credit—taking a back seat to a writer and director who have had little major success.  This had me very skeptical, however the director did have a writing credit on Evil Dead 2 (his only claim to next-to-fame) and the production value and acting look good.  If only that were enough.  The loss of Roth should be considered the loss of the franchise.

This kill was stupid in Valentine and it’s still stupid now!

John Hensley (FX’s Nip/Tuck, Teeth) plays the opposite of his typical casting: lame, passive, and conservative; the Ed Helmsley of The Hangover.  Kip Pardue (Drive, The Wizard of Gore remake-2007) plays more like The Hangover’s Bradley Cooper.  Then there’s the well-to-do but possibly corruptible bachelor and the driven-bitter-by-marriage guy who seeks excitement.  These four are having a bachelor party in Vegas.

The only similarity between Hostel III and the first two is the liberal use of fake blood and ball-gags.  But–oh, look–they’ve added a cheerleader costume.  It just got even more like a fetish club.

If she can eat all of those Madagascan hissing roaches then she is totally winning in the next season of Fear Factor!

After a few drinks and hands of blackjack they are invited to a wild venue way off the strip with a couple of too-hot-to-be-talking-to-you local chicks.  They go.  Then, long story short, they have someone play “Operation” on them.  This flick truly is like a tutorial for girls and guys to NEVER take a drink from ANYONE.  Not even if they open the bottle in front of you because, evidently, they bought the Rufé & Chandon Brut Classic for your champagne toast.

I know, guy.  I felt the same way as I watched this.

The theme is more high-tech than parts I and II.  There’s a sterile “hobby” room, an audience with cocktails and laptops looking into a glass exhibit room, and everything is managed online.  It all seems a little too sophisticated, kind of like the drugged-up chick auction in Taken—sparkling wine, Armani and high rollers.  There are some attempts at goring us out including a pretty serious scene pulling off the skin from someone’s entire face.  But other than that one “moment” of awesome, I really felt like this flick missed the point of the Hostel franchise.  The story was told from the director’s perspective, not through the eyes of the victem or assailant.  The torture scenes were short and limited to a gimmick (for example, shooting someone with a crossbow until they die), we didn’t “see” enough happen, and there was no relationship between the tortured and the torturer, as in terror and fear met by a sick rush of euphoria.  As if it wasn’t mediocre enough, the writers tried to slap almost half a dozen twists on us—none of them were well-received.  Really, they didn’t make a difference to me at all.

Skip it.  I’d rather have my left nut caught in a car door than watch this again.