HOLLYWOOD HUES
Horror film that’s a nightmare
Ervell E. Menezes

WHEN Ridley Scott made Alien in 1979 little did he know that it would have two sequels. Even worse, he never envisaged that aliens would be creeping out of humans at a drop of an exclamation. These gooey, slimy worm-like creatures are capable of infinite harm and give scriptwriters the liberty of letting their imaginations run riot, which means from a vague premise they create horror merely for horror’s sake. That noted author Stephen King should have joined this club is indeed surprising. What isn’t, is that this sort of film, Dreamcatcher, becomes a nightmare, not fear-wise but film-wise.

When four young men, Jonesy, Henry, Peter and Beaver, brought up in a small town in Maine, decide to relive childhood adventures in a hunting cabin in the woods, it is sheer nostalgia they are interested in. What they do not anticipate is catching up with Duddits, a pale boy with uncanny supernatural powers, who was also part of the gang and who plays havoc with them. He’s the dreamcatcher who is able to turn thoughts into words.

Not that these four characters are quite sound of mind. They have their problems keeping their heads above water in the rat race they live in. But it all has a multiplying effect (like the aliens) when they come across a lost hunter who is unaware of the deadly contagion he is carrying. Not surprisingly, he is the breeder of the aliens. This, plus a blizzard coming on and a military madman (Morgan Freeman) having his own agenda means that anything is possible.

Director Lawrence Kazdan does well to create an aura of mystery by moving from character to character by quick cutting and editing and letting things hang in the balance. But once you get the aliens crawling out of human bodies, it is credibility that is the biggest casualty. There is little reason for their actions and their exits are monitored totally by the director. Why some of the characters don’t die with their stings too isn’t explained.

If one has to look for plus points, John Seale’s cinematography catches the eye and Thomas Jane and Tom Sizemore give some evidence of their acting skills. Morgan Freeman is like a guest star who has left all his expressions in the rehearsals. Sadly, the agony is prolonged almost endlessly.

If there’s one word to describe the film it is the four-letter word beginning with‘s’. But the trouble is that it is used so profusely, both figuratively and literally, that it makes one quite sick. Not in a long while has one seen such a pathetic, meaningless entertainer. Eminently avoidable.

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