Darren Lynn Bousman, bored with slaughtering people with yard art in the Saw franchise, has decided to remake the Troma film, Mother’s Day. If you remember the original — and why would you, it’s a fucking Troma film. Here’s the plot: bad dialogue, bad dialogue, gore, gore gore, boobs, horrific gore, boobs, bad dialogue, gore and boobs, a car flips over, boobs gore, bad dialogue, end. You don’t watch a Troma film for fine cinema, you watch it for boobs and seventeen gallons of red karo syrup — it’s splattersploitation.
The original film was made by Charles Kaufman, brother of the infamous Lloyd Kaufman, the more famous founder of Troma Films. Basically, a bunch of redneck brothers rape and kill women to impress their mama. Instead, in Bousman’s remake, she’s been kicked out of her house, and so they’re going to go and try to frighten up the new residents. So, in my book, that makes this not a remake, or a reboot, regurgitation, reimagining, revision, retarded, repackaging, or even remotely related, but a SEQUEL. Of Last House on the Left.
I understand why they remake horror films. It’s a built-in money-making scheme. But not if you remake a movie that nobody’s ever seen before. The selling point is that Bousman’s doing it. If it was a new Troma film, people (and by people I mean, immature sock-fuckers like moi) would go see it. The draw isn’t that it’s Mother’s Day. It’s not even a popular Troma film. And frankly, he’s far too creative to have to rely on the remake crutch. He’s not some Norwegian pants commercial director or a fucking music video jockey. I didn’t like Repo: The Genetic Opera, but that’s because I didn’t feel like it was using the full creative potential it could have. Bousman’s too good to be wasting his time on this shit. You can’t tell me the dude hasn’t penned something equally creative in between murderizing scream queens with Marilyn Manson’s bridal shower gifts. Fuck, he’s kind of my front-runner for the film version of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
But more importantly, when are we going to get a horror film for the forgotten holidays? Like Chester A. Arthur or Zachary Taylor, presidents whose names aren’t even dirty enough to elicit a chuckle, there are holidays that deserve their own proud murdersprees. Bousman, don’t remake Mother’s Day. Give us Labor Day, or Flag Day, or President’s Day. Or hell, poor August, the red-headed stepchild month, doesn’t even have a holiday to break up the fevered pitch of summer. Invent a holiday! Hallmark will thank you.