You know what they say, a movie franchise doesn’t start hotting up until the seventh one. Having made our way through the original six-film run of Leprechaun movies starring Warwick Davis, Parker and I finally embarked upon the reboot, Leprechaun: Origins. From a technical standpoint this is easily the most competent in the series, which also makes it the most boring. This movie looks like every other okay slasher flick. At least the others had genuine camp value — this one’s just tedious.
“They put us in this cabin, they locked us in there, to sacrifice us to a leprechaun?” There. That summarizes the whole movie for you, so you don’t need to watch it.
Parker: WWE should make porn.
Me: They do.
Parker: No, I mean for gays.
Me: THEY DO.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that in any horror movie the characters will conveniently have a book that explains everything about what’s happening. Bonus points if it’s in an ancient language that the main character just happens to know. Aaaand there it is:
The only worthwhile bit of the movie was when two characters, armed with axes, accidentally bury them in their best friend’s face. We both got a good chuckle out of that.
Where’s the Man Candy
Parker’s boyfriend this movie was this tall drink of nothing:
Me: Don’t look at me, he’s your featureless slab of vanilla.
Parker: I know. When we make love I’ll just imagine he’s someone else.
I, on the other hand, selected this guy, who is pretty but in a way that makes you feel gross for liking him. Just looking at him makes me want to stand under the shower with a scrub brush and a bottle of Clorox, but y’know what, at least my guy’s showing some skin.
Unfortunately neither of them get their kit off at any point in the movie. Terrible as they are, one of the subtle bonuses of the Final Destination movies is the fact they’ve got a subversive gay gaze. Whereas your standard movies will have a bit of lady-skin to keep the heterosexual men interested, the Final Destination movies had a lot of pretty, shirtless men. Take note, Leprechaun, you could learn something.
The Skinny
“Fuck you, Lucky Charms!”
Apparently they cast a famous wrestler called Hornswoggle to play the leprechaun. I don’t know why — the leprechaun doesn’t talk and is covered in so much latex it could be anyone. “I don’t know why” pretty well sums up this movie. Do yourself a favor and watch any of the Warwick Davis movies. Even the worst of them is better than this by miles, because bad always beats bland.