The first and second installments of this franchise are proto-torture-porn legend, the third one? I’ve never seen it. Perfect – I’ve got a website where I watch and review as many horror movies as I can cram into my eye face, a fine excuse to watch basically everything. Especially the ones people don’t talk much about. There’s no point in reviewing The Exorcist or Texas Chainsaw Massacre, might as well just review The Bible while we’re at it. I somehow am hoping this one is terrible. I have no idea why, maybe I want to be reassured the first two are the outliers… such as with The Godfather trio, the Star Wars trifecta and the Human Centipede triple dip. The first two were the standard bearer and the third one was… included as a third part in the trilogy. A bucket of useless, essentially, but without three movies it’s a “duo” which doesn’t sound as kickass as “trilogy.”
There might be a Hostel 4 and 5, for all I know, and I refuse to Google it up prior to publishing this review. For my purposes this is a trilogy and I’ll hear nothing contrary.
The movie opens up with an American guy with a backpack, flannel shirt and a shitty haircut (the international calling card of backpack tourism) who lands in his hostel room still occupied by unnecessarily-intense Ukrainian traveler “Viktor” (because that is going to be the name of every Eastern European antagonist character forever) and his hyper-sexual girlfriend… I forget her name. Nadya? Natalya? It’s going to begin with “Na” and end with “Ya” whatever it is. This is a slick opener, because it turns out that Viktor and Nanayaya are not the antagonists to the American college student stereotype victim, but rather the other way around. Neat!
This time the homicidal playground for ultra-rich psychos isn’t in Vadavavastan, or in Koshavoshavos or even in Nyakkavukapook. This time it’s in Las Vegas, because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, that’s the tourist ad motto, and Nevada was carelessly-non-specific about it.
Four fratboy types are in town for a bachelor party and are lured off the strip by a pair of hottiecakes who are wondering if they like it freaky. Sure they do! Look at these four suburban golfers, they are positively dripping “exotic and adventurous.” Some fun shit happens in their party warehouse then zip! Off to the murder venue du jour! Again, in Nevada and not Vladakakatov.
Because this is Vegas (or off-off-strip Vegas really) there is a whole “gambling” esthetic to the torturemurder. Not just the same’ol formula, but kinda. I’m a bit disappointed at this point. I was hoping this would be terrible, but it’s not terrible. It’s pretty good, really.
Shit.