People wake up in plastic bags trapped in a warehouse full of: skulls, bloody doll heads, spooky candles, spooky masks, gargoyle bookends, books with latin titles, oversized novelty eyeballs, coffins with pentagrams on the lid. An unknown guy taunts them over a P.A. system he installed for that purpose.

Yeah it's one of those deals where people are stuck in a dungeon and how did they get there and who is the killer and what does he want and all that Saw sort of thing. Normally the scenario stimulates our basal simian curiosity at least a little bit, but today's movie just obstinately refuses to be cared about.

Here's my thing though. As a sort of crazy person I already care way too much about a million things a minute all day every goddam day, so I say anytime you can not care about something you win. Of course that doesn't normally apply to works of dramatic fiction, but I have to say, and I'm not entirely joking here, it was sort of peaceful to spend an hour and twenty minutes just really not giving a rat's ass. It's all so null that until the bafflingly poor ending I hardly even noticed I was watching a horrible movie.

There's not much I can tell you about it. People just kind of hang out in this storeroom full of horror props. Every few minutes the killer will drop another bloody half dead victim on top of them, who will say something incomprehensible and expire. Lot of whispering and muttering so I didn't catch much of what people were talking about. And if you're a whiny ass Jigsaw from Saw wannabe trying to talk in a scary voice, maybe turn down the reverb a little so folks can understand your clever rhymes.

I'd like to have been a successful horror writer, but having completely failed at least carries with it the advantage that nobody will paste my name on a product like this 70 years after my death in order to trick people into watching it. H.P. Lovecraft saw movies. He saw the Universal classics first run in the theatre. His opinion? "Flat, hackneyed, synthetic, essentially atmosphereless jumbles of conventional shrieks and mutterings and superficial, mechanical situations". Great shuddering Azathoth, the cyclopean stack of adjectives he'd have erected upon this production can scarcely be concieved of by the sane mind.