I want to be on Bruce LaBruce's side so much; indie, "arty", pornographic queercore and aggressively so. But his movies are basically mental masturbation fodder for people who get off labeling themselves 'outlaws.' They're good when measured by any traditional standard, and even by most non-traditional standards, which makes the whole 'misunderstood artist' shtick a tough pill the swallow. Plus his uber-leftist leanings make him an obnoxious subject to interview (he scoffs at queers fighting for marriage equality or other civil rights, dismissing them as bourgeois social conservatives).
“The Joan and Melissa Rivers story starring… Joan and Melissa Rivers. A mother and daughter torn apart by tragedy, suicide, not getting the Tonight Show. Mean boyfriends, identical noses. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry...'cause you’re laughing so hard. It will be an evening to remember.”
Hear me geek out hard into hero worship here.
These Scott prequels are just starting to feel like an entry in some 80's slasher franchise; bunch of people, against their better judgement, go to some remote area they know nothing about and are all woefully underprepared and are all disposed of by the same killer or variant thereof.
Not to say there wasn't some gorgeous and frightening scenery, but Scott just seems so enamored with his half-assed philosophizing that he treats the monster element of his monster movie as secondary.