Reviews

Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning

Ginger Snaps BackTwo out of three ain’t bad. The original Ginger Snaps was an absolute stunner and its sequel, shot back-to-back with this prequel, was also stunning in that it not only didn’t suck, it was nearly equally as clever! Not so as we travel back to yesteryear, where the 1815 foremothers of Ginger and Brigitte (Katherine Isabelle and Emily Perkins) skulk on horseback through the frosty wilderness along a mournful path toward certain DOOM! Well, that’s depending on one’s definition of doom. These gals don’t really sweat stuff like having a geriatric soothsayer stop ’em in the woods and warble: "Kill the boy or one sister kills the other!" Or wandering upon a claw-scarred and blood-splattered fort manned by a skeleton crew of freakified frontiersman whose loins would’ve welcomed them with summersaults if not for a preoccupation with LOCKING THE GATES and trying not to wet themselves. Ginger doesn’t even seem all that wigged when she flouts the first rule horror by FOLLOWING A NOISE INTO THE BASEMENT where she discovers a feisty youngster with dog breath, an obscene case of mange and dubious social skills. But she IS indeed doomed. Brigitte’s doomed. They’re all doomed because there’s WEREWOLVES in them thar woods and that’s exciting, eh? Not so much.

There’s a couple creep-worthy moments and our scrumptious starlets are somewhat engaging, but what’s most memorable is the production design of the aforementioned thrashed fortress. That’s hardly enough to spike a severed lycanthrope noggin on, let alone an entire film or the presumed foundation of a three-flick franchise. CineSchlockers won’t be surprised when director Grant Harvey, editor Ken Filewych and writer Stephen Massicotte recall their panic of being without a SCRIPT a month before filming. Gee, there’s a stunner.

No breasts. 15 corpses. Puking. Arrow to the wrist. Ol’ leg in the bear trap gag. Gigundous leech. Kiddo killing. Gratuitous sermonizing. Firesuit stunt. Loogie hawking. Wriggling maggots. Fast mo. Ether sniffing. Throat slashing. Great-great-great-great Grandma Ginger also had issues with empathy: "THESE PEOPLE ARE F@#&ED!!!"