Lorenza Izzo

There is a joke in Eli Roth’s The Green Inferno that relies on the audience’s familiarity with one of the possible side effects of smoking pot. Now being of the horror-loving sort around the BGH offices we’ve seen our fair share of slack-jawed, lovable burnouts that often stand in as a sort of audience surrogate. But pot jokes and cannibal films each have steep points of entry. Even if you are aware of what the iconographies of these things are there’s not much inherent in them that will convince uninterested parties to appreciate the delicacies of graphic rending and blunts.

When I watched “Aftershock” by Nicolas Lopez I knew immediately after watching it how I felt. Much like the recent “Evil Dead” remake I went back and forth during the movie but once I left the theater it hit me like a residual aftershock: that was dumb. Pardon my lame and immature word, but it’s the first thought that came to my mind. In big boy words, “Aftershock” suffered from a genre identity crisis and ultimately created a pointless story full of empty character development.