Thanks for not pretending.

As a married man, with two cockblocking lovable children and a seriously amazing wife, I'm always looking to get away. Not from all of them, silly goose, just the two little ones.

Whether it's my birthday, her birthday, Valentine's Day, our anniversary, f--king Arbor Day, Tuesday, whatever it may be, the possibility of a romantic escape consistently resides at the top of my mind near famous breasts and 90s movie quotes. 

I've planned good and bad ones, but like any true champion of sport, you gotta put it all behind you and prepare for the next one. The only problem? I'm the only one who does any of the legwork.

She doesn't plan shit.

And after seeing the 2015's Sweet Home, I'm more than alright with being in charge of a night away. At least when I'm calling the shots, the only thing getting murdered in the night is our hopes and dreams of staying up past eleven.  

Thankfully, Rafa Martinez' little horror flick isn't about a pathetic married couple, but instead young lovers, likely in their twenties.

Sexy blonde Alicia (Ingrid Garcia Jonsson) is a real estate broker in Spain, and when the film opens she's visiting the last remaining tenant of a beautiful old building. Apparently, somebody wants this building vacant, but a stubborn old man on the top floor won't budge. This will matter in a few short hours.

In the meantime, Alicia plans a romantic birthday celebration for her boyfriend Simon, a recent med-school dropout (this too, will matter later). But being that they're broke, or least Simon is, Alicia plans the candlelit tryst in, of all places, a vacant room in the aforementioned building. Good thing murderous thugs weren't planning on breaking into the building that very same evening, cutting the power, and killing that old bastard upstairs. I mean, 'cause that would really be a bummer, you know? (unless they've already had sex, I mean, at that point, the night's pretty much over anyway...might as well head home).



Unfortunately for them/fortunately for us, three thugs do break into the building, do cut the power, and do kill that old f--ker, essentially ruining whatever was left of a fairly romantic evening. And once these creeps realize that this vacant building ain't exactly empty, well, it's gonna be one helluva night for everyone involved. It's a small building, sure, but it's also big f--king trouble, too.

Impossibly heavy rainstorm or not, this chick steps out on a balcony wearing that?
At least 400 boners in a five-block radius tingle Spider-Man style, ending this movie in 17 minutes.

Look, everyone knows that almost 99% of horror movies are f--king terrible. Like, I'd rather eat a fistful of Jason Voorhees waterlogged pubes than sit through most of the 'scary' shit streaming on Netflix. But I found Sweet Home totally compelling. It's short and sweet and never really lets up. And as a dude who's trying to squeeze in a flick in the wee f--king hours of summer vacation, that's truly what I was looking for. Yes, under a microscope, or say, watched by someone not a f--king moron, this film is likely stupid beyond belief. But I had a good f--king time, honestly. Though at this point, any f--king time is good (especially if you don't have to elaborately plan for it).

Speaking of horribly arranged words, here are the Yays and Boos. Who would of thought having sex in an abandoned building would be anything less than ideal? Oh, right. Everyone.

In baseball terms, this guy's batting cleanup.

Yaaaaaaaay!

• Okay, it's kind of a Boo, but what the f--k was with that opening? Straight up, that's the worst way to die ever. And on Christmas, no less! (the Yay is I was totally hooked with such an absurd way to kill someone)
• Rad title cards are...well, rad. But add a heavy dose of synthesizers to said rad title card? ... Sorry. I don't know how to type the sound of a boner forming.
• Speaking of, being blindfolded by your sexy girlfriend on your birthday? Rowr.
• Also sexy, are many of the visuals and damn near all of the camerawork. This flick may have the runtime of something amateur, but what's on screen looks anything but. Well done, amigos.
• The thing that kind of sets off the whole awful night is executed brilliantly. I don't want to get into it, other than to say it's a mistake that we've all made. And hopefully you're due for an upgrade anyway....
• There might not be a lot of death and violence in this movie (Hell, there's only seven characters for f--k's sake), but when there is, it's pretty f--king gnarly. Simon...you's a stone cold killer, son. Oh, and speaking of cold...what the Hell is that freeze spray? Holy shit!
• Dude, Final Boss Guy. This guy's amazing...ly methodical.
• And finally, that weird sense of accomplishment I feel every single time I watch something entirely f--king random on Netflix...and end up totally enjoying it. I know there are a million movies, good movies, f--king films and such, that I should be watching, but I'm like a game show contestant in a moronic costume. That trip to Jamaica is cool, sure, but I'm taking whatever the f--k is behind door #2 instead and crossing my damn fingers, you know?

We've all been there, haven't we, gents?(That moment when you know Round 2 ain't happening)

BOOOOOO...

...OOOooOO!

• Man, we're gonna get some really unfortunate plot devices, you know? Cell phone left in a car? Check. Broken front door mention early in the film? Roger that. Worst monsoon in the history of time? 10-4. Over.
• Can we be honest with ourselves for a minute? Please? Simon and Alicia get into a little bit of an argument because he's pissed she got him a present. Why? You know why. They promised that they weren't doing presents this year. And Simon listened. Ladies...you gotta cut this shit out. (uh, unless by breaking the rules you inadvertently give your man something he can use later to kill a homicidal maniac...then it's totally cool. Oh, if the present is a blowjob. Also totally cool).
• This is a bit spoiler-y, but at one point, Alicia has to drop a dead body off a balcony to get someone's attention. It smashes below in a horrible spectacle of blood and broken bones. And no one notices. A body. In the street. I know, it's raining. Water. Not f--king BODIES.
• Calm down, sir. Jeez 9-11 Lady, Simon's chill as a motherf--ker. No, really. This chick is on crack.
• I'm sorry, but...there's no nudity in this film. And there totally could have been! And it would have been wondrous. I mean, the ass on Simon! 
• I shouldn't be turned on by a scared woman dragging a bloodied corpse down the hall, huh? Welp, too late.
• Unless I blacked out, which is possible, Simon straight up teleports at one point. I actually jumped up like, watch it girl! He's right behind y---- Oh. It's your boyfriend. Carry on.
• Speaking of Simon, this guy gets f--ked over to record-setting levels. I genuinely felt bad...laughing as hard as I did.
• Two Boos, One Scene. 
• You wake up from an attack, and you've got all these perfectly dotted lines drawn on you, indicating where your limbs will be severed. Not cool. And is that in f--king Sharpie, you prick?!?
• The creepy f--k who drew these lines on your body? Didn't even have the courtesy to remove your undergarments in the process. The nerve of some people.
• Which is going to lead to quite the sexy Final Death Battle. Something my boner didn't know how to handle in the least.
• And finally, from the few comments and reviews I've read, most people hate the shit out of this movie. What the Hell is this? What's the motivation to absolutely thrash something so small? Doesn't masturbating in your mom's basement already check that box? The Hell is going on around here?

One of the last times we got away, we stayed at what was quite possibly the sketchiest 'hotel' in Philadelphia, so I could go see Guns 'N Roses like a f--king asshole. I'm sure at least a half-dozen people died in our room (at least two that day), and the only way to mask the smell of what I imagine to have been brutal homicides, was to smoke 9,000 cigarettes under the covers. And worst of all? There were no curtains in the room, and half of I-95 could just peer into the room at any given time.

We literally had to lay low, or someone could have seen us laying in bed. And had anyone seen in, shit, my wife probably would have died that night.



Of embarrassment.