Has "guilty pleasure" written all over it.

Rating: 5/10 (24 April 2006)

I liked "Hostel." In the same way that I enjoyed Hershell Gordon Lewis' "Gore-Gore Girls," and the 80s pop of Hall and Oates, "Hostel" carries in its bloody clutches a "guilty pleasure" endowment that's hardly mistakable.
That said, there also appears to be a duel train of thought, here, that was carelessly overlooked during the film's making.
The plot is pretty simple. Two college students take an uninhibited tour of Europe's dark under belly, relishing the purple haze of legal hash bars ... having ravishing sex with bosomy euro-chicks. Life's pretty good for these irreverent, if naive and unsophisticated hedonists. Then ... within a matter of minutes ... everything appears to go to hell. One of them finds his hands and feet bound by shackles, sitting almost naked in a dank room that is lavished with all manner of knives and power tools. The purpose of all this? Well ... it's sort of like the Playboy mansion for twisted millionaires ... a place where rich men (and maybe women ... I dunno) can exact all sorts of barbarous, sadistic torture on unwilling participants. And the question on everyone's minds? Can these kids escape this dungeon of carnal, bloody pleasures with their lives?
For a movie that spews rivers of blood, pulpy bone marrow, and mashed limbs ... on top of comely nudity and blistering sex, "Hostel" is pretty fun to watch. I found this movie to be deranged, vicious, and inappropriate in every conceivable way. Sure, I've seen gore in other films that might make "Hostel" seem like a Charlotte Bronte novel. But the vast majority of movie-goers simply don't watch those films ... and for a lot of younger kids who cut their teeth on "Scream" or the "I Know What You Did ..." movies ... the intensity of what they're watching, here, might appear some-what repulsive. (Actually ... I might clarify one thing ... "Hostel" isn't a horror movie ... it tries REALLY hard to be an exploitation shock-fest ... which is probably why Quentin Tarantino's name is in the credits.)
Gore, for the sake of gore alone, I'm totally cool with. Gore, to me, does not enhance the "scare factor" of a movie, though. And if Eli Roth, who helmed this picture, wants to be a maestro of thrills and chills, he'd do much better studying the beguiling atmosphere of Roman Polanksi, or even that of Alfred Hitchcock.
The point that Roth was obviously trying to communicate is that violence, under the guise of entertainment is ... um ... well ... BAD. Okay. However, he relays his message through a camera lens engulfed in thick, syrupy sadism. He's not trying to disappoint America's fixation with violence ... Roth is exciting us with all of this bloody madness. I don't think I'm being far-fetched when I write that Roth WANTS us to watch "Hostel" ... over and over again. And because of this, his commentary (already simple and overcooked) is therefore moot.
But who cares? If you're watching "Hostel," hoping to view a portrait of man's inhumanity to man, you've wasted your money. As a guilty pleasure, "Hostel" hits all the essential bases, man. Actually ... guys like Eli Roth might well be the last bastion of filmmakers who dare to push the proverbial decency envelope. As meaningless as their work might be, you also have to love them for their irreverence for our sensibilities. Guys like Lucio Fulci and Jess Franco were men who swiped the rug from underneath their audience, and made them feel uncomfortable. Roth may eventually clamor among their ranks.