A laughable B-movie so mired in clichés, predictable "twists", amateur overacting, dumb cardboard stereotypes and pedestrian dialog - that you'll be grabbing the remote control soon after the kick-off, and not to kiss it, trust me. I assume there are a lot more people who gave up on the movie than there are those who managed to finish it.
Those who gave up are a lot smarter than me.
I stuck it out - but only because of my loyal friend, the remote control. (Disobedient and treacherous only when its batteries run low.) There is a wonderful function on it called "skip the next 15 secs of this Dreck". Or at least that's what I call it. I pressed that button on multiple occasions: that button is almost as loyal and protective of its master as the demonesse in this silly movie.
The film's ineptness is cringy at times, especially the scenes when violent characters get angry: like a very cheesy pulp-fiction comic-book. Bad guys smirk, good guys look on helplessly. It's that kind of movie.
The short struggling artist (no taller than Richard Gere or Tom Cruise - either of whom probably would have been cast if this awful script had made it into the hands of a slow-witted Hollywood producer), extremely insecure and jittery to the point of being annoying, is played by an uninteresting overactor incapable of being subtle for a second. (Yeah, Cruise would be perfect.) He somehow becomes the object of worship of a skinny but dangerous (= Lara Croft) forest fairy; a sort of supernatural "art-crowd" groupie. She doesn't go for rock bands, she goes for struggling artists. This skimpily-clad demonesse acts as the artist's muse: she gives him great sex, and in return he creates great art. Because that's what screwing is essentially: musing. I.e. give a man constant erections and watch him amplify his creativity tenfold.
However, she is also his protector. (Some male fantasy, huh? A nymphomaniac fashion model that does double duty as bodyguard! Add some 5-star-restaurant kitchen abilities into the mix as well - and voila, the perfect woman... A Stepford wife extraordinaire.) She inspires him to "artistic" success, killing everyone in his path... because - clearly - an unemployed artist has so many enemies. Hundreds. And, clearly, unemployed starving artists reside in large lofts that are somehow situated in mob-ridden neighbourhoods.
And, clearly, nerdy sensitive artist types cold-bloodedly dismember bodies with carpentry tools. They never struggle with that. It's second nature to them, because they see corpses daily in their jobs as artists...
One of these generic mobster neighbours offers him a job (?!) of driving (?!) the mobster to the woods. Because that's what mobsters do: they can't drive so they hire their neighbours to drive them deep into the woods where the cocaine money is waiting in a remote shed. Standard MO, right?
The first sex between the nerd and the killer-goddess occurs just MINUTES after she very brutally kills his landlord right in front of him. Now, I don't know about you, but witnessing the decapitation of an innocent man would KINDA kill the mood for me. Especially if the woman who wants sex with me were that killer. Call me old-fashioned, but a woman butchering people at whim isn't very sexy to me, even if she's doing it naked. Not appealing. But apparently our tiny artist isn't the type to have his sexual excitement curbed by such trivial distractions as murder, blood, corpses, necks breaking, extreme violence and the like. So, covered in another man's blood, he proceeds to allow her to ride on him... So romantic. So Goth. He is - clearly - a good guy, so we should root for him. Or not?
The artist is so incredibly thick (yup, Cruise would be ideal) that it doesn't even occur to him that the extremely violent fairy MIGHT just be a tad jealous if she ever caught him with another woman. It takes a lengthy description of fairy demonesses by his female employer (the curator) to finally make him realize that the object of his desire (oh yeah, there's that other female protagonist he secretly worships) is in danger of being killed by his jealous forest-creature girlfriend.
The curator is an expert on forest-dwelling killer-models. Thought I'd mention that too... No idea why or how, but she knows everything about them. She is the world's leading authority on sheobhans, or whatever these fairies are called.
Nor is it clear what an Irish folk-tale demonesse is doing in urban America. Perhaps she won an Irish singing contest and got a free flight to NY. (No, wait, she doesn't even speak.) I know she's Irish because of her name, not her accent: she never says a word. She is a mute as well as a muse. A mute muse.
OK, so she's "Celtic". Same thing...
Nerd-boy, who was totally insecure and nervous just days earlier, suddenly morphs into a confident successful artist. Just like that. Like in a Jerry Lewis comedy. Except that there was no magic potion to explain this extreme turnaround. And this isn't a comedy. At least not intentionally.
The plot thickens: Cruise's love-interest already has a boyfriend. A big bad arrogant jock boyfriend. (No, this isn't a mindless high-school teen romp... I mean, it IS mindless, just not a teen romp.) A big bad arrogant jock boyfriend - who is an artist himself. (Great writing, huh? He is a dead ringer for an artist the way Seth Green is a dead ringer for an NBA pro.) But wait, it gets dumber: as the nerd's career suddenly skyrockets due to excessive mystical "musing" (i.e. screwing) which enmuses Cruise's previously demused artistic career, the jock's own career just as suddenly comes to a halt. No explanation given... We are just supposed to accept all these age-old clichés... because they're clichés? Or maybe Cruise's success makes jock-boy unable to draw and paint anymore? Makes a lot of sense...
Did I mention how extremely predictable the plot is? I have. No harm in repeating this though: because every single "twist" is phoned in miles ahead. This is Thriller Script-Writing 000, not even 101.
Predictably, the jealous demonesse attacks Cruise's love-interest right after the scene with the curator when Cruise finally added 2 and 2, finally realizing that a jealous demon might just be a tad dangerous vis-a-vis the "other woman". Predictably the demonesse somehow loses her killing skills: for some (plot-device) reason her target keeps eluding her. Somehow she kills gangsters much more easily than harmless, unarmed women!
He predictably arrives just in time to save the girl. He does this by shooting his supernatural all-powerful demon lover with a common pistol - in the back. So cavalier and brave. So he kills her.
Or does he? A little later the two of them are shown walking away into the forest, accompanied by melancholic music.
They were last seen a few weeks later in a forest clearing, urinating on the script.
Those who gave up are a lot smarter than me.
I stuck it out - but only because of my loyal friend, the remote control. (Disobedient and treacherous only when its batteries run low.) There is a wonderful function on it called "skip the next 15 secs of this Dreck". Or at least that's what I call it. I pressed that button on multiple occasions: that button is almost as loyal and protective of its master as the demonesse in this silly movie.
The film's ineptness is cringy at times, especially the scenes when violent characters get angry: like a very cheesy pulp-fiction comic-book. Bad guys smirk, good guys look on helplessly. It's that kind of movie.
The short struggling artist (no taller than Richard Gere or Tom Cruise - either of whom probably would have been cast if this awful script had made it into the hands of a slow-witted Hollywood producer), extremely insecure and jittery to the point of being annoying, is played by an uninteresting overactor incapable of being subtle for a second. (Yeah, Cruise would be perfect.) He somehow becomes the object of worship of a skinny but dangerous (= Lara Croft) forest fairy; a sort of supernatural "art-crowd" groupie. She doesn't go for rock bands, she goes for struggling artists. This skimpily-clad demonesse acts as the artist's muse: she gives him great sex, and in return he creates great art. Because that's what screwing is essentially: musing. I.e. give a man constant erections and watch him amplify his creativity tenfold.
However, she is also his protector. (Some male fantasy, huh? A nymphomaniac fashion model that does double duty as bodyguard! Add some 5-star-restaurant kitchen abilities into the mix as well - and voila, the perfect woman... A Stepford wife extraordinaire.) She inspires him to "artistic" success, killing everyone in his path... because - clearly - an unemployed artist has so many enemies. Hundreds. And, clearly, unemployed starving artists reside in large lofts that are somehow situated in mob-ridden neighbourhoods.
And, clearly, nerdy sensitive artist types cold-bloodedly dismember bodies with carpentry tools. They never struggle with that. It's second nature to them, because they see corpses daily in their jobs as artists...
One of these generic mobster neighbours offers him a job (?!) of driving (?!) the mobster to the woods. Because that's what mobsters do: they can't drive so they hire their neighbours to drive them deep into the woods where the cocaine money is waiting in a remote shed. Standard MO, right?
The first sex between the nerd and the killer-goddess occurs just MINUTES after she very brutally kills his landlord right in front of him. Now, I don't know about you, but witnessing the decapitation of an innocent man would KINDA kill the mood for me. Especially if the woman who wants sex with me were that killer. Call me old-fashioned, but a woman butchering people at whim isn't very sexy to me, even if she's doing it naked. Not appealing. But apparently our tiny artist isn't the type to have his sexual excitement curbed by such trivial distractions as murder, blood, corpses, necks breaking, extreme violence and the like. So, covered in another man's blood, he proceeds to allow her to ride on him... So romantic. So Goth. He is - clearly - a good guy, so we should root for him. Or not?
The artist is so incredibly thick (yup, Cruise would be ideal) that it doesn't even occur to him that the extremely violent fairy MIGHT just be a tad jealous if she ever caught him with another woman. It takes a lengthy description of fairy demonesses by his female employer (the curator) to finally make him realize that the object of his desire (oh yeah, there's that other female protagonist he secretly worships) is in danger of being killed by his jealous forest-creature girlfriend.
The curator is an expert on forest-dwelling killer-models. Thought I'd mention that too... No idea why or how, but she knows everything about them. She is the world's leading authority on sheobhans, or whatever these fairies are called.
Nor is it clear what an Irish folk-tale demonesse is doing in urban America. Perhaps she won an Irish singing contest and got a free flight to NY. (No, wait, she doesn't even speak.) I know she's Irish because of her name, not her accent: she never says a word. She is a mute as well as a muse. A mute muse.
OK, so she's "Celtic". Same thing...
Nerd-boy, who was totally insecure and nervous just days earlier, suddenly morphs into a confident successful artist. Just like that. Like in a Jerry Lewis comedy. Except that there was no magic potion to explain this extreme turnaround. And this isn't a comedy. At least not intentionally.
The plot thickens: Cruise's love-interest already has a boyfriend. A big bad arrogant jock boyfriend. (No, this isn't a mindless high-school teen romp... I mean, it IS mindless, just not a teen romp.) A big bad arrogant jock boyfriend - who is an artist himself. (Great writing, huh? He is a dead ringer for an artist the way Seth Green is a dead ringer for an NBA pro.) But wait, it gets dumber: as the nerd's career suddenly skyrockets due to excessive mystical "musing" (i.e. screwing) which enmuses Cruise's previously demused artistic career, the jock's own career just as suddenly comes to a halt. No explanation given... We are just supposed to accept all these age-old clichés... because they're clichés? Or maybe Cruise's success makes jock-boy unable to draw and paint anymore? Makes a lot of sense...
Did I mention how extremely predictable the plot is? I have. No harm in repeating this though: because every single "twist" is phoned in miles ahead. This is Thriller Script-Writing 000, not even 101.
Predictably, the jealous demonesse attacks Cruise's love-interest right after the scene with the curator when Cruise finally added 2 and 2, finally realizing that a jealous demon might just be a tad dangerous vis-a-vis the "other woman". Predictably the demonesse somehow loses her killing skills: for some (plot-device) reason her target keeps eluding her. Somehow she kills gangsters much more easily than harmless, unarmed women!
He predictably arrives just in time to save the girl. He does this by shooting his supernatural all-powerful demon lover with a common pistol - in the back. So cavalier and brave. So he kills her.
Or does he? A little later the two of them are shown walking away into the forest, accompanied by melancholic music.
They were last seen a few weeks later in a forest clearing, urinating on the script.