Oh how I hated this movie. Not because it was a pointless, plodding waste of my time, but because it was playing at a mainstream theater and I spent twelve bucks and ninety minutes of my ever-shortening life on it. Sure, if it was ensconced away in an art house movie theater, hey, you pays yer dues, you takes yer chances.

This is where I’d write a little blurb about the plot… but, really, there’s no plot. You spend all your time watching the world’s worst real estate video… dark shots through an average house… camera on the ceiling, shots of the floor, shots of the walls… all in grainy, low-fi crappy camera with hisses and pops on the wobbly soundtrack.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? A filmmaker high on his own supply giving us his best, cheapest experimental film. A slightly more active Paint Drying… yeah, there are voices of kids and a demon (probably) and a 911 operator you can’t hear… but that’s all hand-waving vague in a flick that would prefer to focus on a corner of the ceiling.

Saying it’s a bad movie is beside the point. Obviously the guy who made this knew people would declarer their love for it or loath it for not being about anything. Saying either is falling into his trap.

That said, 90+ minutes spent pondering if I was going to stop and get Papa Johns on the way home and whether or not I should re-edit my book tonight or put it off for another day. Oh, I mean… watching paint dry. Trying to stay awake. Wondering why this overpriced movie theater’s seats all had rips in their faux-leather. Thinking about this very review, thinking about thinking about this very review… wondering if I was going all the way down the meta rabbit hole and then writing about going down the meta rabbit hole this very second.

Bah. It’s pointless to bitch about this flick since it’s designed to be bitched about. I’ve fallen for their fiendish schemes and they’ve gotten my twelve bucks.

Score: 45