WITH its second entry, the “Hostel” series has already jumped, disemboweled and dismembered the shark.
I gave the original three stars, but the sequel is a suspenseless rehash that takes the cleverest idea of its predecessor (I’m going to have to give it away in order to discuss “Hostel: Part II”), warms it up like leftovers and stretches it with filler. You want red meat? You got it – together with a pile of Hamburger Helper.
The repeat gag is this: The motive behind the mysterious slaughter of a series of American backpackers at a converted Eastern European factory (de-renovated with the latest in dungeon technology) is thrill-seeking on the part of twisted American millionaires who pay huge sums to enact their most heinous fantasies.
The first movie lightly teased out the idea as a sort of Swiftian comeuppance for the airheadedness of the Lonely Planet hordes, but you don’t laugh at a joke the second time around. The sequel also wastes time taking a mundane detour into the unlikely mechanics of the process. Would wealthy corporate types really text their bids for the right to torture people to death, thus leaving a blazing e-trail to link them to the murders? And how much typing on BlackBerrys do you really want in a slasher film?
You come to the film expecting – hoping – to be grossed out, and “Hostel: Part II” doesn’t disappoint. Arteries gush like Oprah. There is a creative element in designing these set pieces, and the makeup, unlike the script and direction, is top stuff. On the other hand, any four randomly selected dudes I went to high school with could dream up something equally sick over a six-pack of Molson.
Some might call these bits shocking, but just as a joke repeated is a joke ruined, a shock that’s expected isn’t one. Through its first half, before the butchering begins, the film fails to build tension, since we know that three American backpackers – this time they’re girls – are going to wind up at a hostel in Slovakia that has a deal to place its guests on the menu at the International House of Torture.
Each of the three (Lauren German, Heather Matarazzo, Bijou Phillips, if you care) is issued a single-word personality – rich, prissy, slutty – and spouts dialogue that was not overly slaved over – “Oh my God, are they going to kill us?” “Please help me! These men are chasing me!” and so on. Meanwhile, we check in on the equally dull journey of two rich guys (Roger Bart, Richard Burgi) who have won the rights to kill them.
If the girls were cool, we might root for them, and if they were “Laguna Beach” princesses or “Melrose Place” bitches we might cheer for max carnage. As they are, we are indifferent to their fate. They’re just livestock.
So the entire film is a write-off except for the third act, which is creepy enough and has a couple of decent twists. But the “Hostel” movies lack the ironic punishment or the ingenious booby-trappery of the “Saw” series. “Hostel: Part II” is more like the most recent “Texas Chainsaw” flick. All it has to say is: Here’s human purée served fresh and hot, come and get it.
HOSTEL: PART II
Cuisinartless.
Running time: 94 minutes. Rated R (extreme graphic violence, profanity, nudity, sex, drug use). At the Orpheum, the 84th Street, the Kips Bay, others.