Devil’s Due, here after referred to as the Cinematic Abortion, was an hour and a half (as well as a buck twenty) that I will never get back as long as I live! While I’ve made it no secret that I loathe the entire shaky camera school of film making, some recent releases (see Frankenstein’s Army) had been grudgingly winning me over to this breed of film. Throw in the whole, demon possession/demonic impregnation theme and I’m willing to humor it. The previews looked awesome and the cover art was cool to boot. Yes, I have said before that the better the cover is, the worse the movie will be in almost all cases. Still, I gave this the benefit of the doubt. The Cinematic Abortion was, in fact, an inept re-imagining of Rosemary’s Baby, sans the writing/acting/directing talent or the originality. The point of view of the “film” is from a yuppy’s perpetual insistence that he records every moment of his life with his new bride. This is coupled with random shots taken from other people’s cameras, surveillance cameras and secretly hidden cameras placed by this mysterious and apparently globe spanning cult insisting that newly wed couples on their honeymoon be impregnated by Satan only to be slaughtered (in part or in whole) after the hell spawn is born. There was nothing remotely good about this Cinematic Abortion. The acting and story telling -and “story telling” is a stretch of the English language to be sure- were practically non existent amongst a group of seemingly nameless characters who had no more depth or personality than the machine that I rented the movie from. I’m not usually the type to want my money back on something like this. I try to look at it as an adventure that I’ve embarked upon and while the $1.20 spent to rent the Cinematic Abortion (I will neither refer to it again by its given name, nor use the monicker “film”) isn’t going to bankrupt me, there is a principle to the matter that needs to be addressed.
You, the production company that released this abomination, the Redbox corporation that rented out the movie, and Hollywood in general for allowing this sub par, unimaginative schlock like this to be assembly line made and delivered owe me both a full refund and an apology. When my nine year old son could create (and produce with a cheap $12.00 thrift store digital camera) a film of equal or greater entertainment and artistic value, You have failed the society which you were responsible for entertaining.
I’m waiting, Hollywood.