KNOCK KNOCK

I have to admit I had a good time watching Knock Knock. Up to a point.

It’s a remake of a 1977 film called Death Game, which I only discovered because Sondra Locke was listed as an executive producer, and I said out loud, “that’s pretty random”. I paused the film and consulted IMDB. Turns out she starred in the original — which I will seek out only to quiet my untreated OCD problem.

The film has a very simple premise: Evan (Keanu Reeves), a self-labelled “happily married” family man, is visited by two extremely hot girls one night, soaked tip-to-toe from the rain. He’s alone at home trying to get work done while the family frolics at the beach; the girls are lost and have 45 minutes to kill before their Uber arrives. Evan’s morals eventually cave to the girls’ prodding, they explore the definition of “ménage à trois” — and for the rest of the long weekend, the nymphets torture, rape, vandalize and metaphorically hack away at him and his life.

A lot of horror films have their characters walk the tight-rope of moral ambiguity. A person’s sin is quickly followed by their judgment and retribution. That’s entertainment, right? Comedy is when someone else suffers; tragedy is when it happens to you. And a good horror movie lets you gauge your own scale on how far is too far.

The film outstayed its welcome after the 50-minute mark. Personally, the destructive nature of the girls became repetitive and redundant. I much prefer the psychological games Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction and Rosamund Pike in Gone Girl play on their married transgressors. But we’re watching an Eli Roth movie here; subtlety isn’t the best card in his hand.

*Note, it’s easy to throw flame at the horny, mid-life crisis addled husband. But if any premise deserves the “reverse-gender” version, it’s this one. A 45-year-old married woman seduced by whoever floats that focus-group’s boat. Zac Efron? Jason Mamoa? A de-aged Brad Pitt? They’d manipulate an ego that’s been tempered by the daily grind of banal suburbia, saying all the right words and remind them of their once Devil-May-Care selves. God help the woman who opens the door to find Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner standing half-naked in the rain with a smoldering look in their eyes. I remember women at that age when Twilight came out. It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.