My Soul to Take – Review

Three of the most discernible villains in cinematic fright have come from the deranged psyche of English-professor-turned-horror-auteur Wes Craven. Krug [Last House on the Left], Freddy Krueger [A Nightmare on Elm Street], and Ghostface [Scream] became evil incarnate icons for the respective decade they were made in. It really is a cyclical thing for Wes, as he has always found a way to reinvent himself and bring to life a new serial killer every time it seems the well has run dry.

The 70′s, 80′s, and 90′s owe a debt of gratitude to the intelligence that Craven brought to what are essentially slasher flicks. When you insult your audience with misogynistic tendencies, you usually craft barf bag bogosities like Maniac and The New York Ripper. You can be hardcore and down and dirty without being repulsive. Wes Craven has done that and elevated the genre, and at the same time brought in a new fan base that might not necessarily be fans of scary movies, but the cult of personality keeps them coming back in droves.

Everyone knows the story of how the bastard son of a thousand maniacs was taken from Wes and how he longed for the day when he could make another trip down Elm Street. He came out of the blocks stumbling with the fun, yet uneven Shocker. His attempt to re-launch a new bad guy fell way short and there would be no sequel for his latest designer psycho, Horace Pinker. All good things come to those to wait, as Craven and New Line CEO Bob Shaye patched things up long enough for New Nightmare to be made, and for the return of finger knives being frightening once again.

The new millennium has been here for some time now, and a certain master of the macabre has gone back to a tried and true formula to see if lightning can strike for a fourth time with My Soul to Take, formerly 25/8.

On the night that the The Riverton Ripper was allegedly put to rest, his spirit found its way into the body of man who proceeds to murder his pregnant wife, but miraculously the child survives and grows up to be the troubled Adam ’Bug’ Heller [Max Thieriot]. ‘Bug’ is part of the Riverton Seven, a group of teens who were all born the night the mass murderer died, but not before he vowed to return and kill them all. The Ripper’s soul lives on as he is reincarnated in one of the kids as he slaughters them and works his way back to finishing what he started the day the septet was born sixteen years ago.

Wes Craven’s specialty has always been the rubber reality sequences where real life and dreams blur and become the stuff of nightmares. As was the case with Deadly Friend, those moments are far and few, as the kids hog up the screen time and things become way too chatty. Although this is a deterrent for me because I believe horror should be up front and center, they are a likeable cabal who you get to know and care about, which goes a long way to adding an element of anguish when they perish.

The Riverton Ripper has lived off the land and dresses like a wannabe Rob Zombie, whose time on screen is way too brief. There is some allegorical mumbo jumbo connecting him to the California Condor of all things, and none of it flies as it comes off pretentious and light as a feather. When he does show up though, he is a ruthless son of a bitch who shreds teenyboppers with his blade of vengeance.

While the movie does not hit the highs of classics like The Hills Have Eyes and The Serpent and the Rainbow, Wes Craven, like John Hughes, has always had his finger on the pulse of youth and the hardships of adolescence as My Soul to Take plays like Stand by Me with knives in 3D.

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