The most distinctive aspect of The Innkeepers - writer/director Ti West’s astonishingly tepid follow-up to his 2009 instant horror cult classic The House of the Devil - is the fact that it lacks any distinction whatsoever. It’s as if young West decided that after his first “experiment” in mimicking a bygone and beloved cinematic aesthetic went so well (House is a stunningly successful early ‘80s retro-replication redux), he would try his skilled hand at a self-consciously old-fashioned, minimalist ghost story, set in the familiar setting of a practically empty, reputably haunted hotel (a la The Shining), with hardly any gore effects, relying on tried-and-true-and-tired false fright gimmicks, attempting to squeeze strategic scares out of a skeletal storyline that would’ve barely passed muster as an episode of Boris Karloff’s classic old television anthology Thriller, or Rod Serling’s The Night Gallery - both of which would’ve provided more suitable and stylish frameworks for this paltry portrait of paranormal inactivity. There’s nothing about this flick that warrants its theatrical trappings. It barely covers routine TV movie turf, sans even a gratuitous nude shower scene to pique our prurient interest. Again, maybe that was West’s overly esoteric point, to sort of artfully wallow in vintage clichéd mediocrity, but I’m at a loss why anyone would find that type of retread remotely engaging. I certainly didn’t. This movie was just plain boring from start to finish.
The setup is simple: a couple of slacker-hipster desk clerks (Sara Paxton and Pat Healy, both doing fine jobs despite the pedestrian material) decide to work and sleep over in a spacious old hotel called the Yankee Pedlar Inn on its final weekend, maintaining their own “video diary” of alleged spectre sightings, which had once been the joint’s spooky stock-in-trade, though apparently the appeal of apparitions has worn thin over the decades. I don’t blame the tourists for staying away. This place is dead, and not in a good way. There are only a handful of guests in the hotel for its final festivities, including a retired actress (Kelly McGillis) who now dabbles in some sort of New Age hokum, and an old, sad dude (George Riddle) who wants to relive his honeymoon - alone. His purpose in the plot is instantly identifiable, so once again, no surprises are to be had. From the legend of a lovelorn widow with a tragic history tied to the premises to the intrepid, asthmatic ghost hunter who stubbornly explores the secrets of a forbidden basement, The Innkeepers colors its concept strictly by the numbers, without a single twist or unexpected turn in the shockingly straightforward storyline.
Unlike House of the Devil, which slowly builds tension with a deliberately paced narrative punctuated by terrifying teasers of a fearsome finale that delivers the gruesome goods, The Innkeepers slogs along making promises with only predictable, perfunctory payoffs, but even the poltergeists pull their punches. I’m giving The Innkeepers a higher rating than it deserves because filmmaker West still shines with potential due to his auspicious debut, and I’m chalking this mystifying misfire up to the ol' Curse of the Sophomore Stumble. Let’s hope he escapes his own basement while he still has a chance.
The Innkeepers opens February 3 for a limited engagement at the Lumiere in San Francisco.
Will “the Thrill” Viharo is a pulp fiction author and B Movie impresario.
Comments