And I really appreciated Zarchi’s heady approach to a subgenre that doesn’t always have such lofty aims. If I’m making it sound like Deja Vu is chalk-full of enough literary nuance to fill a college paper, it’s because it is. And even the most obnoxious character is cognizant of his seemingly predetermined fate in this world, pausing amidst the chaos in order to fantasize about an escape to New York City, where it will be easier to start over in anonymity. Becky has long since accepted that her fate is inexorably linked to Jennifer’s. Jennifer’s book adorns the gas station counter she jockeys, serving as a constant reminder that Jennifer has profited off her husband’s corpse. This wife, Becky, is played quite well by Maria Olsen, a character singularly driven by her need for revenge. Deja Vu’s big bad is the wife of the original film’s ringleader (the dude who got castrated in the tub). And the villains are even more aware of their social standings. Christy Hills leads a life of affluence, only stopping off to meet mom for an innocent lunch date when she’s thrown headlong into a situation that forces her to atone for her mother’s past. Exploitation cinema thrives when it’s at its most disreputable.Īll the major players in this picture are bound by fate. That Jennifer has grown somewhat narcissistic is an interesting choice–certainly an antiquated one in this “yassss queen” culture, but that’s okay. She’s published an unflinching tell-all about her assault and subsequent revenge (and the book is buoyed by a hilariously mean-spirited and tasteless title). It asks questions of its characters that aren’t easily answered, and Zarchi seems to harbor some disdain for the way his original heroine, Jennifer Hills, has cashed in on her trauma. A scene that conveys all of its information rather quickly and then keeps conveying and re-conveying, as if Zarchi had written a first draft and decided it was good enough.īut here’s the thing about Deja Vu: As unwieldy as it is, it’s got a novelistic scope that’s pretty fascinating. As the Hills women are driven into seclusion, they’re subjected by the film’s villain to an almost endless justifying screed. Early in the proceedings, for example, Jennifer Hills (a returning Camille Keaton) and her daughter Christy (Jamie Bernadette) are abducted by the relatives of the men Jennifer slaughtered. Is there anything more 2019 than a drastically overlong exploitation sequel?īecause of this, you’re guaranteed to spend some time during Deja Vu thinking about what could’ve been cut. It’s surprising that we’ve reached a moment in time where an indie revenge flick exhibits these symptoms, but that too makes perfect sense. Where movies can routinely lose 15-20 minutes and improve because of it. But we live in a world where every summer movie is too long. This thing just doesn’t need to be 148 minutes. I suspect even Zarchi’s producers would agree. So let’s be real: I Spit on Your Grave: Deja Vu is rough-around-the-edges. I on the other hand knew what I was in for, even if I didn’t know what I was in for. My wife, who certainly doesn’t shy away from controversial material, spent a few minutes turning the box over in her hands before deciding that she was unwilling to take this trip (and she’s an admirer of the original I Spit on Your Grave). I of course ordered the Blu-ray (which turned out to be burned BD-R, much to my dismay) and carved out some time to take it all in. This is where I’d insert that Leonardo DiCaprio “you had my curiosity…” gif if I had it. Writer/director Meir Zarchi hadn’t made a film since 1985’s Don’t Mess With My Sister, and now suddenly this? His big return is to craft a supersized sequel to one of the most infamous grindhouse pictures of all time? I made light of its self-indulgent length on Twitter, but I was also intrigued by what it might offer. Deja Vu clocks in at a staggering 148 minutes and that certainly makes it a tough sell. I don’t compare the two for any reason other than to say I admire both pictures (at different measures, sure). I Spit on Your Grave: Deja Vu kind of does that too. And with just a few clever tweaks, injected an inspired twist into established formula. I remember turning to my wife once it was finished, and her grinned response was simple: “Can we just watch that again?” A rare request if you know her, and a testament to that film’s incredible power. It felt like an evolution of this particular genre. Coralie Fargeat’s thrilling bloodbath, Revenge, is one of my favorite movies of the last few years.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |