I'll take no pleasure in it, I promise.

I hate other people's houses. Clearly there's something (potentially very) wrong with me, but I never quite feel comfortable in someone else's home, no matter how many times the host insists the opposite.

If their house is nice, it's this tangible reminder of all the poor decisions I made in my life, and how I really wish I had a fireplace. And if their house is rundown, or inadequate in some way, I'm generally overcome with some weird guilt thing, which makes me mad because it explicitly lets me know I'm a giant asshole. Either way, I generally punch the ballot for let's get the f--k out of here, asap. 

Oh, and in the unlikely situation that their house happens to be just like mine (read: shitty), then I'm stuck thinking, I had to get in a car for this? (And I can't even take my pants off?)

But worse than other people's stuff, in other people's houses?

Other people's kids. 

And it's not even close.

I didn't really know anything about The Boy heading into it, outside of the one-sentence summary the Regal Theater app afforded me. Despite strolling into a late Tuesday night showing of director William Brent Bell's latest horror flick essentially blind, it wasn't what unfolded on screen that really surprised me. Nope. It was the fact that I wasn't utterly f--king alone in the theater. In fact, it was damn near sold out. 

What the f--k is going on around here, exactly?

Which is what our protagonist Greta (the doe-eyed Lauren Cohan) would have asked, repeatedly, had this little horror flick not been reaching for all that PG-13 cash. Instead, she wanders through a creepy-ass house, owned by creepy-ass people, while taking care of their creepy-ass...son?

See, Greta, after some domestic event that led to a restraining order back home, arrives/flees to some mysterious (and cavernous) English manor. Her job? To watch an elderly couple's son as they head off on a much needed holiday. The catch? Their son, this cheeky little wanker named Brahms, just so happens to be a f--king doll. Yeah. you read that right. And after a quick rundown of how to take care of little Brahmsy, his parents get the f--k out of Dodge, leaving Greta (and the paying audience) thinking...where did I go wrong in my life?


Kind of f--king retarded, but also oddly compelling, The Boy manages a bit of originality, despite being like every other creepy doll movie ever. Yes, that was a noise in the hallway, and no, the f--king scary ass doll didn't move (or did it?), but once Greta starts playing by the rules, well, it sort of gets interesting. Initially, like any good American, she nods along at clear-cut directions before shutting the door and thinking f--k all that noise. But once shit starts getting real, Greta goes ahead and gets her shit together and does the job right: she treats the doll like a real f--king kid. A stiff kid, that doesn't say anything. Or eat. Or shit. Or...well, do anything outside of creep you the f--k out. That he nails.

That one? Heavens no. For the doll we're going to
raise like our son, we want the creepiest one you've got.

Look, it's a miracle that I can even drive a car to a theater or successfully turn on a computer to post this. At least in a movie-going sense, anyway. There have been so many times I've asked a post-movie question that was so f--king obvious to everyone else, I'm surprised they didn't stone me to death on the spot.  Keep that in mind when I tell you it took me a minute to figure this one out. 

I'm sure some of you will have it pegged ten minutes in, but being that you're still reading this review, on this site...maybe not. Despite some whispers of a shocking ending! (fine, I also saw one comment on Twitter saying something to that effect) I didn't feel that way in the least. Actually, once you know the secret, once the big reveal takes place, shit. It was buy one, get one on indifferent shrugs.

Speaking of disappointing conclusions, let's wrap this one up with the Yays and Boos. I may be the only person on the planet that saw The Boy instead of The Revenant, but not only did I need to get home earlier, I was saving Leo vs. The Bear for my wife. So considerate, right? Especially for someone about to spoil some shit.

That's odd. My wife carries me down the stairs, too. Aww.

Yaaaaaaay!

• Desperate times may indeed call for desperate measures, but I'm fairly certain Ms. Cohan is smoking hot.
• Rupert Evans, a solid dude I'm sure, plays Malcolm, the grocery boy. No, I checked it. This is Yay.
• By my count, there were three jump scares. They are all pretty cheap (dreams and such), but very effective regardless. The black dude in front of me did like a half of a floor routine.
• So, uh, lace panties, huh? 
• You're totally alone in a house, right? Just you and a doll. Necklace is missing = f--k. Weird crying noises at night = double f--k. But, random delicately prepared peanut butter & jelly? Yay! In fact, triple Yay!
• There's a point when things start getting really crazy for Greta, where she actually reaches out for help...from Brahms. The only way this could have been more badass is if we got the weirdest gear-up seen ever (remember, Brahms can't...move), totally backed by heavy guitars and slow-motion pigeons. 
• And finally, there's this point where it happens. You've basically been waiting for it for over an hour, but when it comes...it's f--king brilliant. Let's just say, on screen, they're going to need a broom. And in the theater, they're going to need a mop.

Hmm. What's that strange noise? I should go investigate.

Booooooooooo!

• Jim Norton is in this. No, not the comedian that looks like an angry penis, but some old Irish dude. (I was hoping for penis version)
• Okay. You've got the giant, scary house in the middle of nowhere. Fine. And you've got a porcelain child, weird, but whatever - that's how you roll. Do you really need the over-sized miserable family portrait from every episode of Scooby Doo? Damn, Heelshire's. It's like you want to scare people away. What next?
• NO CELL SERVICE? [F--k this. Always.]
• Is Brahms from Playskool's Little Adolf line or something? Honestly. He's the worst.
• For whatever reason, Mr. Heelshire has to show Greta the rat traps. No, I'm not kidding. She has to change the rat traps. Does this plot-point ever matter? Of course not. Unless it was Ben who made that sweet PB&J. (Ben? Anyone?)
• So, you show up in F--ktown, and meet Queen and President Bullshit. They walk you through the most elaborate list of nonsense, kiss their doll-boy goodbye, and just when you think it can't get worse, right? Ol' mom leans in on her good-bye hug and whispers, I'm so sorry. F--k this.
• You know those creepy ass attic stairs that descend from the ceiling? In general, f--k those, right? Imagine if you walked out of your room, and the ladder was down. On its own. At night. I'd either run like Hell, or spin kick that thing like a motherf--ker. But Greta? I'll let you guess what she does. IN A TOWEL.
• Speaking of, I know you ladies can wrap a towel around your naked bodies like nobody's business, but damn, Greta. That shit was glued to her. I try that shit and my ass and/or balls are out thirty seconds later. Greta keeps her towel locked...for days.
• The fate of the Heelshire's. Please, just so we can laugh at this together, please see this movie.
• Major spoiler alert: Greta's ex-boyfriend shows up out of the blue. Sure, this place is remote as f--k, and thousands of miles away from his home. But Cole, this pony-tailed hillbilly, presumably one without that much money, makes it all the way to England and shows himself in. Yep.
• And finally, the end. Well, much of the end kind of sucks, actually, (and it isn't in the ballpark of shocking!) but there's one part that made my glassy dead eyes just about roll out of my f--king skull. Greta is in extreme peril, like, running for her life, and she sees this little shrine to her, and is completely disgusted. She has been taking care of a f--king doll for weeks, and now she's bothered? That makes two of us.

Luckily for me, I'm not the kind of person who gets rattled easily by scary movies. I leave all that paranormal noise at the theater, and head right back to good ol' real-life. No horror movie cliches for me, thank you very much.

In fact, my wife is leaving for business in the morning, and I'll have to take care of the little one all by myself. Fortunately, I don't live in a very big house, so there's basically nowhere to hide. And I've got two kids, not one, the boy and a little girl. Ha! Oh, and I'm not even trapped here all day, as I get to finally get back to work teaching sixth graders English and Social Studies after having a week off due to a blizzard.

Yep. Nothing scary here. I mean...

...unless you actually think about it.