These are my incomplete notes for the Eli Roth movie Hostel (2005). Originally, the plan was to look at both Hostel films in a single post, attempting to work out why Hostel Pt. 1 was so much more successful than its follow-up film, Hostel Pt. 2 (2007). However, in going back and watching the original film again, I found that my initial more positive reaction to it had completely changed, and what was originally seen as a mildly diverting if never entirely successful thriller, was now something of a cumbersome bore that had absolutely nothing of relevance to say whatsoever. Before the end of the film I'd completely lost interest in writing about it and gave up making my notes shortly after the scene where Paxton (Jay Hernandez) has the conversation with the enthusiastic American businessman (Rick Hoffman). Given this complete change in opinion over the course of the last three years, I'm now wondering if it might be worth returning to Hostel Pt. 2 - a film that I'd completely dismissed as a total failure when I saw it at the cinema on its initial release - to see if my opinion of it has changed for the better (I've seen it referred to as a pro-feminist deconstruction of the first film's casual misogyny, but I'm not entirely convinced).
Once again, I'm not quite sure if these notes will be of any interest to the anonymous readers (or reader?) stumbling across this post from a random search-engine enquiry, but let me know either way. These vague musings were originally compiled last month, so the opinions are still fairly fresh... and again, it is worth repeating that I was genuinely disappointed that the film didn't live up to my earlier, more positive recollection of it.
- An opening image establishing the setting: a traditional if not entirely original underground lair. A montage of close up images follow, exaggerating the location; water dripping from pipes, splashes of soap suds pitter-pattering off the hard concrete floor, a barely-visible figure in overalls going about his business in the back of the frame, unaffected and blasé as he scrubs the blood and gore from a collection of homemade implements of torture and death, finally hosing down the pools of thick, deep claret from the hard, stained tiles.
- Already director Eli Roth is fetishising the act of violence as a post-coital rite; presenting this torture business where the aftermath of violence is treated as perfectly normal, business as usual type stuff. No shock or attempt to unnerve the audience beyond the obvious; a particular approach that unfortunately carries through to the rest of the film.
- Crash cut to the introduction of our three main protagonists, with the blaring, generic rock music to establish the idea that these guys are looking for fun (in the blandly hedonistic westerners' abroad sense of the word). The jocular excess that reminds us of EuroTrip (2004) or An American Werewolf in Paris (1997); all frat boy posturing - "Amsterdam motherfucker!" - introducing both the location and the character's attitude to such.
- The kind of film where characters and their relationships are developed through dull conversations that are intended to set the wheels of the story in motion. The lazy satirising of supposed American jingoism, pot-smoking aspirations and banging pussy; a one-dimensional presentation that seems intended to make the characters as vulgar, dull and unsympathetic as humanly possible, just so that Roth can hang his concept on a nearly throw-away line of dialog – "these days everybody wants to kill Americans".
- Do we buy the back-story of these individuals? Can we actually believe that a dullard like Paxton is "studying for the bar", or that Josh is an aspiring writer? These details are thrown out and quickly forgotten about, never really having any kind of knock on effect or relevance to the story, either on an immediate level, or in terms of its subtext.
- No real tension is created, even after Oli goes missing, precisely because the characters are never developed beyond the level of pleasantries and Euro/American stereotyping. All we know about this character is that he has a daughter (who he can't be all that committed to raising) and an uncircumcised penis... and yet we're supposed to be on the edge of our collective seat as his two friends search the streets of a cartoon Eastern Europe in an attempt to track him down?
- The whole film plods along without ever really engaging the audience; occasionally exploiting the natural atmosphere of the locations, which are admittedly great, but Roth does nothing with them besides pointing his camera at them. Even a potentially interesting "torture museum", which could have been used to create a commentary on the actual narrative (and how an audience is attracted to violence and suffering, while not really wishing it on their friends and immediate family), is relegated to a clever if forgettable piece of production design. Like the vast majority of the ideas in the film, such moments seem to have absolutely no intellectual purpose, and instead seem to be there for no other reason than Roth's belief that such ideas are "cool".
- It is clear that Roth, like the even less talented Rob Zombie, only comes alive when he's directing scenes of violence and brutality. The scenes of exposition show some of the laziest composition of shots outside of the realms of the Made for TV thriller; cluttered, bland, stick the camera on a steadicam rig and hold it in place cinematography, and with no real regard whatsoever for the use of colour and texture. However, when he's directing the torture room scenes, he's in his element. Locked off, clearly well planned composition, atmospheric lighting, a real sense of colour (or selective colour: rust brown and red with the occasional burst of fluorescent green) and a decent use of depth of field to enforce the importance of certain objects within the frame.
- Roth, like several French-speaking directors who have found fame in the post-Hostel horror film milieu, clearly relishes having these obnoxious but completely innocent characters beg and plead as his camera lingers on every spit-dribbling close up or teary-eyed lament. The invention of the term "torture-porn", which is contentious and debatable, but when reinforced by the continual shots of moaning victims, or psychopaths attempting to reclaim masculinity through the wielding of phallic implements of death (as their prey kick and fight against tight, metal on leather straps), seems entirely appropriate.
- However, even here, where the film should have us on the edge of our seats, the overbearing music takes us out of the experience, and not in a good way. We know these characters are doomed and that their very convincing cries for forgiveness will not be rewarded with a chance of escape; so what's the point in making an emotional investment in this nonsense? This is precisely why the so-called torture-porn genre doesn't work; there's no tension. It's brutality for brutality's sake, because there's no element of the life and death struggle to keep us motivated - no depth beneath the surface of big-budget exploitation, no hope for redemption, for the victims or the victors, etc.
- It's only at the 50 minute-mark that the film becomes vaguely interesting, when Roth begins to play with the form of detective fiction; not quite a giallo, but interesting enough in the investigatory sense that we actually become attracted to the previously dull character of Paxton, and concerned about his well being.
- Putting Takashi Miike in your film won't make it as good as Audition (Ōdishon, 1999), just as having Quentin Tarantino listed as your executive producer won't make your scenes of terror anywhere near as memorable or genuinely terrifying as the ear scene in Reservoir Dogs (1991), or even the Rose McGowan/Car Crash sequence in the much maligned Death Proof (2007).
- Roth doesn't seem sure of what kind of film he's trying to make. Some scenes seem pointed towards hardcore exploitation, with the usual element of violent exploitation as social commentary - reminding us of The Last House on the Left (1971) or I Spit on Your Grave (1978), etc - while at other times he seems to be making a throwaway slasher film, where eyeballs are gouged out and fingers scattered like confetti, bringing to mind enjoyable rubbish like Friday the 13th (1980) and The Burning (1981). These continual shifts in tone clutter the film and make it impossible to connect with; too much heavy brutality to really enjoy as popcorn entertainment, and too many macabre jokes and elements of slapstick to appreciate as a serious work of note.
Hostel is available on Region 2 DVD from Sony Home Entertainment.
[The Son of Man, 1964, by René Magritte]
[The Son of the Son of Man, 2007, by Me]
Sketch of Samantha Morton, drawn by the author, 2002
