Take a Drink: for every creaking door and/or creepy doll.
Do a Shot: anytime you catch a glimpse of the cross lodged in the marsh.
Take a Drink: whenever Edward writes a note or draws something weird as fuck.
Take a Drink: every time a character reveals a devastating secret. Take Two: when it’s not their own.
Take a Drink: for each visit by the bitch in black.
Shotgun a Beer: when it’s over… OR IS IT.
By: Felix Felicis (Four Beers) –
One of my New Year’s resolutions was to only do stupid shit when I’m drunk so I had no choice but to get wasted in order to buy a ticket to The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death (and boredom). A list of things that are scarier than this movie include but are not limited to: committed relationships, vegans, using the last of the toilet paper with no backup roll, my iPhone dying, accidentally being sold into the sex trade while traveling abroad, and clowns. So strap on your strap-ons, campers, and let’s bone this mediocre excuse for mainstream horror.
The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death occurs forty years after The Woman In Black’s somewhat successful Edwardian-era film, during WWII this time, and follows a group of school children alongside their caretakers, Headmistress Hogg and Miss Eve Parkins, as they flee London bombings for a way totally safer haunted house in a marsh dead (get it? DEAD?) center in the middle of a super spooky countryside filled with mist and restless spirits of the disgruntled deceased. Will anyone make it out alive? Will romance blossom in the countryside? Will London be the only thing getting bombed in this movie?
I jumped in my seat once, squirmed twice and blinked rapidly a few times so The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death had a couple scares mixed in with the tedious mists and haunted houses no one seems to burn down even when people keep dying in them. With a cast of semi-unknown actors, the film relies heavily on the set and lukewarm thuds, thumps, and creaks to generate most of the atmosphere and, to it’s credit, The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death did achieve a moderate level of “creepy” but that’s about it. I’ve seen scarier Geico commercials.
I’ve had rectal exams more exciting than The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death. The film begins and ends on a flat-line and, other than a tiny blip or two in the middle, pretty much stays there. The most terrifying thing about the film was how boring it was. Seriously. Considering how buzzed I was (and I amused myself by getting wasted and petting a plastic spork for forty-five minutes on a flight once) the only thing making me even the slightest bit uncomfortable was the time sucked from my life I’ll never get back.
The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death is a regurgitated bucket of horror-film plot vomit. It takes everything from the first movie and adds a pile of kids, subtracts a suspicious town and equals the same body count with maximum soul-sucking-creative-blackhole-where-dreams-and-kittens-go-to-die achieved. Whoever wrote the screenplay to this film (Jon Croker, if you were wondering who to slap upside the head at the earliest opportunity) clearly phoned in the plot, relying on the audience to piece together lazily discovered details and unscramble unfolding events with the barest minimum of effort output to make them coherent. If you haven’t seen the first movie, you’re gonna spend most of this one with your “WTF?!” face on. This is the Kardashian of horror films, pointless and offensively mediocre; not to mention The Woman In Black barely shows up (other than a moldy hand and flash of rotting face once in awhile) so even the titular paranormal entity didn’t want anything to do with this shitshow.
This film was pointless, lacking in creativity and relied on a formulaic plotline to generate little-to-no actual horror. It’s the Olive Garden of spooks and scares; faux-authentic and white people will love it. If this thing came with breadsticks you’d have to beat them off (and not in the fun way) in herds. Lighting your money and/or face on fire would be a more rewarding experience than watching The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death. Add to that a lack of Harry Potter (you know Daniel Radcliffe corked it at the end of the first film to avoid being tied down to any shitquels) and Ciaran Hinds and The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death pretty much spikes the football in the underwhelming end zone. It’s forgettable in the most mediocre way, and, much like a strip club, this movie will leave you will less money and less dignity than you went into it with.
The Woman In Black 2: Angel Of Death is everything I’ve never wanted in a horror film. Two severed thumbs way, way down on the “meh” scale. Save your money and splurge on that erotic tea set you’ve been slow-bidding on eBay. Trust me, I’m a *doctor (*highly functioning alcoholic).