Let me warn you - this won't be easy.

We needed help. We've got two small kids, and we'd reached a point that something drastic needed to happen. If not, they'd be home alone, eating Cheerios off the floor and essentially raising themselves. So, in addition to me quitting my job, my wife and I summoned a supernatural being from a mystical place, and invited her to our home in Pennsylvania. In other words, my mom moved here from Hawai'i to watch the kids.

Depending on who you ask, my mom isn't scary. The film Mama, from writer/director Andres Muschietti, isn't either. But it was supposed to be. Instead it's yet another shitty PG-13 horror movie, churned out to the delight of twelve-year olds, who likely confuse mysterious with hard-to-see, and terror with just plain terrible.

Let's be fair, even though it fails miserably, Mama had a chance. The idea of (sort of) re-domesticating two kids left to raise themselves had promise. That alone is kind of creepy, I'll admit. Layer in the fact that for those five years some angry (yet loving?) ghost bitch was watching over them and is presumably going to be real pissed when they're gone makes for an interesting premise. If only it had stopped there. If only.

Holy shit, this movie is dumb. Almost to the point where I was offended. And I'm an idiot. But, at the very least, I understand logic and reason, and this movie is completely void of both. Okay, fine, the main character is a ghost, so I should probably let some shit go, but still. I've never been left so dumbstruck by the end of a movie. Never.

But let's back it up, shall we? After a pretty shitty day (three murders with a smidge of kidnapping), some guy crashes his car down the side of a snowy mountain with his two daughters in the backseat. And even though I can use Google Earth to see into the backyard of my childhood home from space, an entire car simply can't be found at ground level. Anyway, the two girls end up in a, get this, spooooky cabin! with dear old Dad. Dad's had enough and despite miraculously surviving the car accident, decides it's time to shoot everybody. And before things take an ugly turn, Mama shows up, kickin' ass and rolling cherries. Okay, this is kind of dumb, but whatever. I'm still in.



From there, it's five years later and apparently in that time every human being on the planet has become an irrational f--ktard. Sure, our leads Jessica Chastain (playing the oldest punk rocker, Annabelle) and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (who I mentally referred to as Not Sawyer) are attractive and capable actors, but their characters are horrendous. I wouldn't let either of these two watch my f--king dog, but somehow they're left in charge of two, yes two, feral children, one of whom is often prone to eating various moths under various beds. But, hold on. Annabelle and Not Sawyer are flat-broke. They live in a shitty, moth-free apartment. Forget it. This isn't going to work. Movie's over. Oh, I forgot. Apparently the state has a gigantic picturesque house that they use for case studies, cause you know, that makes sense. You guys can just live there. It's big enough for the family, and any overprotective, bloodthirsty supernatural wenches they might know.

At this point, I was somehow still on board, but it was more to watch Jessica Chastain jiggle around in her low cut shirts than anything else. The ending, as I've mentioned (and which I'll probably spoil in a minute), was so impossibly bad, all the cleavage in the world couldn't make up for it. Seriously. I dare you, no, I double dare you to find a movie with a more ridiculous final five minutes than Mama.

On that all too improbable note, here are the Yays and Boos. If given the choice to stay with real people or, say, jump off a cliff with Ghost Mom, I'm not sure what these two would do. Sounds like a physical challenge.

I could only think of one thing I'd grant her custody of. And it ain't kids.

Yaaaay!

• I've already mentioned it, but Chastain is kinda hot here. Even if she looks like she exists exclusively in a Hot Topic.
• Even in a bad movie, I always appreciate it when I learn a life lesson. Note to self: If you want feral children to instantly love you? Give them eye wear. Or if no spectacles are to be found/don't apply...warm their paws. I mean hands, warm their sweet, dirty little hands.
• I wasn't scared, ever, but it is slightly creepy how these little bitches scurry about. I mean it. The little one can scurry like a motherf--ker.
• And finally, I would instantly watch, no- I would purchase a sequel, where everyone explains what happened to Social Services. Let me get this straight...you're alive? But your sister is dead? But not really, right? Because she's a blue moth, now? And this 'Mama' you speak of? She's been dead for a hundred years, right? And she can fly, but she also jumped off a cliff, um, to her death? Am I getting this right? This sounds f--king awesome, right? Right?

You got a little... There's something...it's on your...oh, nevermind. Carry on.

Boooooooooooo!

• As cute as the girls were, at least initially, even that was over done. Glasses or lisp. You can't have both.
• Daddy there's a woman outside...she's not touching the floor. After this line, I wish I wasn't touching the floor either.
• Professional trackers. These guys have been looking for five years and not only have they missed the car, but they also missed the f--king cabin thirty yards from it.
• Mama likes her some tug-o-war. Makes sense. I mean, if I had a nickel for every time my mom challenged me to arguably the most dangerous game an adult could play with a small child I'd be a f--king millionaire.
• So there's this thing that grows out of the wall wherever Mama is. It's kind of like a giant, scary vagina that ejects moths. If I found one of those in my house, I might actually, I don't know, look at it. Their plan? Don't investigate it. Times 900.
• Speaking of bad calls, perhaps you might want to invest in some light bulbs, guys? I'm pretty sure it would help ease the house's overwhelming vibe of malfunctioning insane asylum. Unless that's what you guys were going for.
• Scary Archive Lady. What the f--k is her deal? She's a little too generous, don't you think? First, she'll give you the most ludicrous definition of a ghost in modern history. Then she'll give you a dead baby. And to think it's not even your birthday.
• What the shit was with Doctor A-hole? Jeez, this guy was record settingly awful. The low lights include:
• In response to the question Am I safe? this doctor actually says, Give me a break. Who do I punch? The writer, the actor, or both?
• When this obvious genius starts putting things together, guess what he does? He goes to the cabin. At night.
• But what really angered me more than anything? This f--ker gets full voice-over rights. Okay, Almost Tony Shalhoub. Now you've crossed the line, prick.
• Product placement/this line: I need the number of Enterprise Rent-A-Car. I want you to say this out loud. Right now. Oh, but you can't sound like an asshole when you say it. IMPOSSIBLE!
• Modern ghosts/evil spirits. Since when did all spirits decide that they had to move like underwater backwards spiders? It was cool the first four hundred times.
• Okay, this is really a Yay, but when Aunt Bitchface shows up and gets entered? I almost spit out my cereal. That was hysterical.
• And finally, the ending. It simply makes zero sense. Mama gets her baby, which is f--king stupid, but whatever, she's complete, let's end this shit, right? But what happens next is so completely mind bottling that I simply couldn't fathom that it actually happened. It's been almost a week and I'm still furious. A f--king moth? Really?

Oh my. Looks like I went off the rails again. Shit. Well, I gotta go to bed. Tomorrow morning, well, today morning, I have to head to the train station in Maryland. I have to pick up someone that's been gone for a week, even though it feels like much, much longer. Her name? Irrelevant.

But I call her Mama.