There's a dead woman in this house. And you let her in.

In addition to the required elements of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium, I'm utterly convinced that my family tree was also fertilized with a generous scoop of utter f--king insanity. Swinging from the branches with dead-eyed smiles on their faces, there are a host of unstable folks littered throughout my esteemed lineage. Fine, they're not total f--king psychopaths or anything, but we've definitely got some real...weirdos.

And while that should be rather unnerving, the older I get, the more I realize that just about everybody is going to end up crazy in some way. And since I'm a guy, mine is likely going to be some silently inward thing that is generally acceptable, or at the very least, tolerable.

But the ladies? My goodness. Their crazy is often this all-consuming force that drives the regulars to the brink of madness. Yes, bad things have happened many years ago, but do we have to dwell on them all of the current days? I mean, we're all haunted by demons from our past, sure, but at some point, you've got to move on and let them go.

Especially the literal ones.

With my last (summer) Bargain Tuesday staring me in the junk, the only movie I was able to finagle my way into (and still manage an on-time pick up of Matty) was director David F. Sandberg's horror flick, Lights Out. I'd like to say that nothing can be too terrifying on a weekday morning, but that was before I overheard that the next screening of Nine Lives was totally sold out. *shudder* Apparently, where I live, people love cheap pussy.

Lights Out opens exactly where you'd expect it to, a poorly-lit, mostly-deserted, textiles factory. Yep, that old place. And as yet another day of making...uh, textiles, ends, it's clear that shit ain't right. At all. Lurking in the shadows is some evil demon-thing, apparently pissed as a motherf--ker. Maybe her scarf came in like, regular black, not Satan's Heart. Whatever the case is, this lady, made entirely of the absence of light totally kills some f--king dude with her shadow hands...and we're off. Sort of.

Turns out this demon chick, (the extra dirty) Diana, is the best friend of definitely single/definitely crazy mom, Sophie (the always reliable Maria Bello). Sophie might have an old cheerleader uniform in the attic that she'll put on and show you her bushy old pom-pom, but as the mother of young kid named Martin, she ain't exactly getting it done. Unless, of course, when Diana isn't terrorizing the f--k out of ol' Marty, she's heating up Bagel Bites and checking his math homework. If only there was another, (possibly sexy) family member that he could also be haunted with go stay with. If only.

Cue the boner trumpet, as Martin's big-sister Rebecca, played by the exceedingly lovely Teresa Palmer, steps in and steps up. Rebecca and her goofball boyfriend have a complicated relationship (they f--k and he has to go home...aww, poor guy), and taking in Martin isn't going to make it any better. But once she realizes that Diana's back (I guess we can assume there was a time that was Diana free), big sis not only takes her brother in, but she also takes Diana on. Oh, you done f--ked up now, Shadow Lady. Tickle-FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!! I mean, Flashlight-FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!

Imagine you saw this, turned the light on, and she disappeared.
How many times would you repeat this process? Once? Twice?
I don't even know you, but I know the answer isn't nineteen f--king times (as it is in this movie)

I'm not terribly mad at Lights Out, but outside of 81-minutes of Palmer face-time, it really isn't anything remotely special. Filled with solid small-budgeted effects and reasonably grounded performances, this flick is just scary enough, and easily worth the five bucks I spent on it. I might have left indifferent, but at least I wasn't furious (f--k this movie in it's blue moth-filled ass), which I guess counts for something.

All bullshit aside, there are two huge problems with Lights Out: 1) it's not Don't Breathe, which looks f--king rad, and 2) the utter implausibility of Diana. My mom has had some pretty lame friends, too, but Diana is the f--king worst. Not only is she overly possessive of mom's time, and a giant, floating shadow demon, but this bitch will also f--k up your childhood drawings with her emo-fueled scribbles. What the f--k, bitch? That rectangle house and circle sun didn't come with the paper. That shit took me ten, maybe even twenty seconds.

Also rushed and not worth putting on the fridge, are the Yays and Boos. Since school (kinda) starts on Tuesday, I'm about to put these two in a dark closet for the rest of their lives. It's called my classroom.

If it meant I got to do her, yes, fine, I'd do him too. 
(look, at him, he's totally considering it)

Yaaaaaaay!

• I'm pretty sure the first time we see Teresa Palmer, it's in her post-coital glow. And in a movie all about the lights being out, there's only one way to get rid of that shine. Oh, yeah. Off-camera shower scene! Hi-yo! (f--k you, this is still a Yay)
• Whirrrrr-whir-whirrrrr.There's a point where we get to a real showdown between Rebecca and Diana, and of course, Rebecca is armed with only a flashlight. How can we make that more dramatic? Give her one of those crank-up flashlights, of course!
• Actually a Boo, but f--k it, but when the power goes out...and they head to the scary basement? I actually gave a (non-implied shower scene) shit for a minute. Maybe even two.
• When you're fighting a demon, it's always a solid movie to call random fodder the police. You NEED flashlights!
• Spoiler Alert: One of those cops, with her, uh, gun...to shoot a shadow...doesn't exactly live. and the dead version of her? It looks cool as Hell. Oh, because I think Diana lives off of a healthy diet of darkness, souls and ocular cavity fluid.
• Spoiler-free Alert: The ending is kind of cool...in how f--king dumb it is. If you're thinking that doesn't make sense, just remember...you're the one actually reading this blog. Clearly you love nonsensical bullshit. Clearly.
• And finally, even though I'm not going to go full-Leto, let me again share my undying affection for the all-encompassing sexiness of Palmer. Looking like a hotter, perpetually-exhausted Amy Adams, Teresa Palmer is probably better than a movie like this, but also kind of perfect for it too. I really hope we don't get another Lights Out movie in the summer of 2018, but if we do, I'll be there. In the theater. Alone. With a flashlight. (I don't even understand whatever it is I just implied. I'm guessing some weird touching and cat noises, but I'm not sure)

Replacing hardwood ain't cheap, young lady.
Next time, be a good demon, and use your f--king arm instead.

Boooooooooo!

• Some random Old Lady in my auditorium wasn't a fan of the Before I Wake preview. I think this was the point she realized she wasn't at the talking cat movie.
• That lame-ass opening scene? Major bummer. It basically set the tone, that yeah, this is going to be kind of...f--king stupid. (the guy grabs a baseball bat, that he keeps in his office at the textile factory, to fight a shadow monster). Just let all that wash over you for a minute.
• Rebecca, hot as f--k Rebecca, lives in this dumpy apartment immediately adjacent to a giant neon sign that slowly flickers 'TATOOS' on an eight-second clip. I know that's gonna be really creepy when the monster shows up...but, no. Just...no. No one would live like that ever. Floating Smoke Monster? Fine. Placing your bed next to the giant, red, constantly flickering neon sign? Never gonna happen.
• The Child Services Lady not only shows up at Rebecca's house before school, but she had already visited Sophie's house before that. Um, no. Nobody cares about kids that much.
• Hey, Martin. You know how I'm a crazy mom who talks to imaginary nighttime monsters instead of you? Let me make it up to you...with a movie night. During the day. Wait, what? Was the haunted planetarium at the old graveyard sold out?
• Diana has a skin disorder. Aww. $100 if you can guess what she's allergic to. Ha. You owe me hundred bucks. Who guesses ferret urine?
• Hey, Martin. It's me, Bret. You know, your sister's Husky-Voiced, Band Guy Boyfriend. Look, little dude, despite me being pretty much the perfect guy (I'm handsome, drive a sporty-little luxury crossover, don't have a job in the least), she's not exactly blindly groping for the switch, you know what I'm saying? So, if you could go ahead and get this demon-thing taken care of, and sleep by your f--king self, you can totally catch Pokemon on my phone.
• Oh, and speaking of, it takes far too long for anyone desperate for light to pull out a f--king cell phone, you know?
• When you search your house with a blacklight, what's worse to find? Mystery stains, say, shoulder high?, or psychotic ramblings scribbled all over the wall? For me, it's the latter, as anyone writing a thousand words they're unable to see during the day is just f--king creepy. And illogical.
• And finally, the sad, sad fact that not only is Summer 2016 officially over, but that it ended with something as unspectacular as Lights Out. I guess it was impossible to maintain the cosmic highs of Where's Will Smith When You Need Him? [review] and Oh, F--k. There He Is. And He's Playing Himself. Again [review] but I really had hoped I could have ended my seventy-seven day weekend on a high note. There's always next year...f--kersssss! 

Welp, Reader 1 and Reader 2, so concludes yet another summer movie season at Two Dollar Cinema. Now that's school is almost back in session (we have a week of mind-numbing horseshit super-helpful meetings and such), it's safe to say I'll be churning out posts (and commenting one yours) at an even slower rate than before. 

But don't worry, I'm not really going away or anything. Even if you turn the lights on.

Now that shit's scary.