“Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn,” so sayeth the learn’d Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw. However, sometimes even professionalism is superceded by outrage, which is why I’m pausing to comment upon the cinematic tripe referred to as Blood Ranch. I’m not sure which is more disturbing, the fact that Corbin Timbrook was given the green light to direct projects prior to Blood Ranch, thus inviting the notion that he might have been worse at his craft at one time, or that he somehow managed to con those at Xenon Pictures into distributing it. To put it bluntly, Blood Ranch is quite possibly the worst film I have ever seen that was backed by a financier. I’m not implying “bad” as in Ed Woodian so-bad-it’s-unintentionally-funny bad, but reprehensible from every conceivable aspect. Now, keep in mind this sentiment isn’t coming from a moralistic prude, I readily advocate some of the more risqué works within the genre as my reviews will attest, i.e. Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Mary Harron’s American Psycho, Lucio Fulci’s The Beyond, Kinji Fukasaku’s Battle Royale, and Gaspar Noé’s Irréversible to name a few, but only in so far as they justify themselves in some form or fashion which, unfortunately, Blood Ranch never does.
To begin with, the plot and characters are plagiarized from Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Rob Zombie’s The Devil’s Rejects, with a liberal theft from Victor Salva’s Jeepers Creepers to add insult to injury. The acting cannot even be labeled as such as a transvestite midget by the name of Aunt Dorothy (Joe Gnoffo) makes Tor Johnson deserving of an Oscar by comparison while the movie exhibits not one instance of wit, style, craft, tact, imagination, or skill. Equally putrid is the lighting by way of Michael Karasick and Adam Silver. As no folly artist is credited, my next best guess as to the responsible party for the half-second delay on every thud, slap, and screech throughout the production’s torturous ninety minutes would be Eric Dehkoda of Dehkoda Sound. In short, Blood Ranch has no redeemable value whatsoever. Perhaps representative of the film as a whole is a severed head on a silver platter whose mouth remains open though nothing is placed within it as the actor’s eyes flinch throughout the scene.
If there is any manner in which I can issue what I deem to be a guilty party benefit of the doubt, I attempt to do so, but from where I stand, there is no excuse for Blood Ranch. Corbin Timbrook gratuitously and unrepentantly uses the art of film as a alibi in which to hide behind his own malicious, sadistic nature without apology. I have oftentimes shook my head, regretting the time lost after having watched a very poor film and, on rare occasions, considered writing those responsible demanding an explanation. However, I have nothing to say to Timbrook and his crew for they are the type of individuals for whom the genre is perpetually battling against in respect to those who cite horror as unnecessary, utterly devoid of content, and without any value whatsoever. If Blood Ranch were the representative of the field, I couldn’t agree more.
-Egregious Gurnow
- Interview with J.R. Bookwalter - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Andrew J. Rausch - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Rick Popko and Dan West - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Director Stevan Mena (Malevolence) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Screenwriter Jeffery Reddick (Day of the Dead 2007) - January 22, 2015
- Teleconference interview with Mick Garris (Masters of Horror) - January 22, 2015
- A Day at the Morgue with Corri English (Unrest) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Writer/Director Nacho Cerda (The Abandoned, Aftermath) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actress Thora Birch (Dark Corners, The Hole, American Beauty) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actor Jason Behr, Plus Skinwalkers Press Coverage - January 22, 2015
