In Rob Zombie’s first bastardization of the Halloween franchise, we’re told that Michael is so intent on going home that he’s willing to do anything to get there and is perfectly willing to remain unresponsive to psychological help. We’re also told that he’s completely emotionless and cold to just about everyone. And yet here we are with “Halloween II” where we get to see how cute and affectionate he is with his mother. This is further proof that Zombie just doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing ninety percent of the time. How can we ever expect to see a good movie from this man again if the story he’s telling is inconsistent? Seeming to have no other option these days, Zombie continues chucking rotten eggs our way from the contrived “Halloween II” (I refuse to call it H2) right down to the awful animated mess that was “El Superbeasto.”
Right now the score card reads: Hits 1, Misses 4.
“Halloween II” (a painfully almost sadistically boring sequel) is just like Zombie’s first attempt: it’s a remake of “Halloween II” where Laurie is now severely traumatized and rushed to a hospital along with her best friend. This gives Robert time to also squeeze in his own tale featuring a hobo Michael Myers who is trying to track down his sister (currently residing in the hospital) with the help of his mother’s spirit. As if following an agreement, this spirit of Michael’s mother is of course played by Sheri Moon who serves to explain that Michael is not only a whiny bitch, but one with mommy issues. Laurie is reduced to becoming the very trailer trash she detested in the first film, and is no longer the innocent paradox to her brother.
Instead she’s a bitter poisonous Goth figure who can barely get through a day without thinking of Michael. Myers obviously pulls this from the “Friday the 13th” gimmick guidebook and always strives to stick to every cliché imaginable including constant dream sequences that almost never seem to shock or horrify. Seriously someone should sue Zombie for so recklessly ripping off the relationship between Jason Voorhes and his mother’s apparition. Aside from taking from a series that’s pretty much considered a rip off of “Halloween,” there’s also the elegant script where Zombie attempts to mimic Tarantino by referencing obscure films, and creating his own hip lingo only a select few can understand.
And there’s also the fucking language in which fucking Zombie believes he’s fucking convinced that fucking using the word fuck in almost every fucking sentence makes him a fucking edgy auteur. Instead it just ends up sounding like a script written by a ADD riddled fifteen year old. Zombie’s second effort isn’t offensively bad because of the script or style, it’s bad because it’s painfully boring and never quite knows what to do with the characters or story. Zombie has proven once again that incompetence is soon becoming his modus operandi.