Michael Myers is the most American of cinematic monsters. He might not have started out that way, but that’s what he is now. It’s part of his appeal and part of the explanation why, unlike so many movie slashers, he managed to persevere for four plus decades.
Just think about it…what is more American than a brutal unstoppable force, a lethal penchant for baseless violence for the sake of violence? Oh, and in case you disagree, do read the latest crime statistics, watch some news, you know, get a clue…it pays to stay informed. In Michael Myers you have a killer who kills because he can. Because he is large enough and strong enough and has nothing by the way of moral compass. There is no message behind his killings, no meaning, no reason. It is the scariest thing about him. Well, that and the fact that he cannot be stopped. No matter what, apparently. As sequel after unnecessary sequel have proven so amply. This movie picks up immediately where its predecessor leaves off, taking the audience back to one fateful night in 2018 when Laurie Strode and her two successive generations of female descendants thought they finally got rid of Michael once and for all, but trapping him and setting him on fire. Well, they did scorch the mask, but you know…you can’t kill evil. Something Ms. Strode should have really learned by now. And so, they are off to the races again, with Michael stomping around their small quintessential American town slaughtering people indiscriminately and a few good citizens i.e. villagers with pitchforks (baseball bats/guns/etc.) are gathering determined to stop him. You can even find some sociopolitical commentary in this…this well leaning neighborhood policing posse getting out of control, foaming at the mouth with murderous rage of their own. Question is, do you want to? Slasher flicks aren’t exactly known for their political commentary. Without it, though, there’s just gore, guts, blood, and tons of brutal semi-creative ways of killing and dismembering. Which is…well, it’s pretty thin, really. It might satisfy some basic viewing urges and/or provide some much-needed catharsis after reading/watching the news but personifying evil into one man, but that’s about it. There isn’t a plot per se or twists, it isn’t smart or clever or original. How can it be original? It’s the twelfth freaking installment in the series. The writing…well, it was written by three people, including incongruously enough Danny McBride (he also did the one before it), and it comes across like it was. Very uneven writing with random tangential soliloquies narrated over visceral brutal murder scenes as the characters contemplate the nature of Michael Myers. How much of a nature there is to contemplate is ultimately up to the audience. You can see what you want to see in Myers, he’s designed that way, even his mask is a blank canvas. When Michael gazes into the mirror in his sister’s old room, you can only speculate on what he’s seeing (and the movie characters do). He could be soulfully gazing into the abyss that borne him, he could be dreamily looking into the past or he could be admiring his own reflection. He could also be staring out into the nothingness. He doesn’t need a reason to be what he is. He doesn’t require it of himself. His actions are justified by a pure mindless drive to indulge in his worst tendencies. He couldn’t be more of a sociopolitical commentary if he tried. Not that he’ll ever find the time, what with all the killing he has to do. And that ending…probably the most honest of Michael Myers’ endings in a long time. Doing away with any pretense whatsoever. The winner takes it all, baby. And this one…well, as the title told you, this one kills.
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