Walled In Review

Aloha Bitches! I have returned…what do you mean, you hadn’t noticed I had gone? Or cared? But I might have a spectacular and involving story to tell about my absence. Featuring a montage set to You Raise Me Up by Westlife. I don’t obviously. But there was the sliver of a possibility that I might have. Then who would have looked foolish? Well, I’ve started this epic return by rambling to my audience (aka, me, forever alone) in the manner of unstable person so I may as well continue. Basically my work schedule was changed for a while to some pretty unsociable hours, this has recently been changed again and therefore have time to write again…and Christ this is so dull I’m in danger of actually boring myself to death, and it’s my life I’m talking about. The option of death by boredom is fitting, as I also nearly suffered the same terrible fate by watching Walled In. Yes, my ability to segue seamlessly to the film I am reviewing has not diminished; you’ll be relieved to learn I’m sure. So Walled In, a 2009 film featuring erstwhile The O.C actress Misha Barton and a giant ugly as sin building, manages the near incredible feat of taking a truly horrifying method of killing, and making a film about it that is unutterably lacklustre and left wanting on pretty much all levels. Which is, if not actually impressive, at least merits me writing several pages of nonsense about it. And even if it doesn’t, I’m going to do it anyway, because I’m just that damn…I don’t know, wacky or some stupid thing. Spoilers to follow.


It Looks Like She Wearing A Rucksack Made From Human Skin.

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