Walled In

Released: 17th March 2009

Directed By: Gilles Paquet-Brenner

Starring: Mischa Barton, Cameron Bright, Deborah Kara Unger

Certificate: 18

It’s a rather strenuous task to sift through all of the generic horror productions out there and it definitely wasn’t a prosperous discovery when I downloaded Walled In. Like many modern releases, it is effortlessly praised for its annulled storyline and tedious repetition. So, if I apply this theory, the plot is as thick as the pretentious minds of the cast and crew. I confess that I failed to watch the movie in its entirety but it was for the same reason that I’d stare at a shifty looking man suspiciously holding his jacket pockets close to his side before realising that he’s got a stitch from walking too far. I had this similar impression so I decided to switch off before I subjected myself to more agonizing mediocrity.
To begin, it depicts a young girl, no more than 7, trapped in a wall screaming for help before the congealed blackened goo that I found out later to my dismay, was cement and not my initial idea which was the director’s soul pouring away into the darkness.

A celebration then ensues because our pale, spiritless protagonist, Sam Walczak graduates from engineering school. Not just any engineering school, she works as an employee for her father in a demolition squad and you won’t forget this crucial facet because you’re reminded by almost every character in the goddamn movie. “You’re a woman? Who works in demolition?” “Not a very gracious lifestyle that girl has.” “Demolition? But you have a vagina.” I mean, just because she bears a vulva and protective apron, it doesn’t mean that she can’t commit to what is essentially a male job I mean, women are as good as men aren’t they? I mean, Golden Girls was awesome!

Just to clarify; I am not a misogynistic person nor do I disrespect any culture, ethnicity or gender roles but I do have an opprobrious burning aversion towards bad actors. It’s not the actors that I despise but follow this delightful notion: it is the director and his/her accomplices’ responsibility, in their majestic knowledge of filming to find a good actor. Then said actor acts well to gain pay. So why is this simple scheme tossed away like a herpes-riddled sandwich in every fucking movie? In Walled In, I noticed countless monotonous efforts during many scenes. The most notable being an introductory scene towards the building’s dark history when Sam marks a wall to test its friability and out of the blue, a man scrambles from the gloomy distance and swings his sledge hammer against it. The attitude felt so comprehensive and staged that I almost threw my ‘How to be condescending and negative’ paperback against the screen, slightly scratching it. Seriously, a stage hand may as well have been captured saying “OKAY MAN, RUN WHEN SHE COUGHS! DON’T TRIP!” And if that isn’t enough, just film the catering service contemplating whether the actors prefer egg mayonnaise in their sandwiches or smoked turkey. Not that any of them deserve the rubber coated meals on wheels for their feeble grasp on the arts of film.

It wouldn’t be necessary to explain the character’s motives and personalities and it wouldn’t be necessary to elaborate on the story because if you’ve seen any number of horror movies that pertains a single slender woman that rolls a spliff prior to defeating the forces of evil then it won’t surpass your expectations. The media is a vastly subjective universe and one man’s cemented up little girl is another man’s…likeable cemented up little girl? (No, no! I do not advocate cementing up little girls, let’s just clear that up). I am, of course an exceedingly cynical person and a movie like this fuels up my scrutiny gauge. So, as a final note, you may actually like this movie but then, presumably, you may also like watching magnolia paint dry.

The concept is as flimsy as a Kraft paper sex toy and has a highly insipid atmosphere. The title is appropriately named, you should, without hesitation, wall up this generic eyesore, mark some C4 and watch the conventional bricks fly. There was no sense of welcoming into the movie; it was as if you were tagged along like the fat kid that’s only noticed because he gives away all of his sweets. This production wasn’t sweet. It was bitter. Bitter like the realisation that the ill child that you gave an elegant ice cream sundae to was lactose intolerant.