You know who's got a sweet gig? Orphans. Most
of us have to wait nearly our whole damn lives before we can
climb onto the government dole. Orphans are on board from day
one, not only riding the gravy train, but simultaneously sucking
from the public teat at the same time. That sounds like a pretty
sweet gig, and, actually, a great idea for porn. Give me a minute
while I go do a Google search for naked ladies in boxcars, smothered
in country gravy and sucking nipples.
Okay, I'm back. There are a few sites dedicated
to it, but they're paysites. I got to get the Mrs.'s credit
card while she's not looking and buy a month's pass to a couple
of them. You'll know I succeeded if I don't update for a month
or so. In other words, I'll be updating my dick.
By jerking off all the time. Oh man, now I really
want a chicken-fried steak.
Let me try to refocus. I was talking about those
lucky sons of bitches orphans. No parents to tell them how disappointed
the kids have made them. They get to sleep in bunk beds and
eat in cafeterias. Nuns rap their knuckles with rulers. Hold
on, now I need to do another Google search. Nobody smothers
them in kisses and hugs or tells them they love them and expects
them to say it right back. Sometimes you get to join a gang
of street urchins and pickpockets and sing your days away. At
age 18, you get tossed out on your ass, but I think they get
like $50 cash. And they get laid a shitload. What better pick-up
line is there than "I was an orphan and I never knew what love
is, but if you'll suck on my dick I think I can begin to understand"?
Oh, and who do you think gets all those toys the Marines collect
at Christmas? I mean, the ones the soldiers can't disassemble
and turn into weapons. I'm telling you, Orphanism is every bit
as sweet a gig as a permanent bed in the children's ward at
That's why I didn't realize until it started
that The Orphanage wasn't going to be a, bust-your-hump
laugh riot. Instead, it's a subtitled Spanish movie about a
creepy old orphanage on the cliffs of the sea where a mother
loses her son. I'm glad I was sober enough to read them this
time. Bel╚n Rueta plays a mother with a nice rack. She has an
adopted seven-year old (Roger Pr╠ncep) who is HIV positive.
For reasons I never quite understood, she buys and returns to
the orphanage where she was raised. Her plan is to refurbish
the empty house and then reopen it for children with special
Before she can get too far along, though, the
house starts making creepy sounds and her son starts talking
to invisible children. A strange woman visits, disappears and
is later found in the middle of the night, banging at a furnace
with a shovel. So, basically, a lot of creepy, spooky shit.
Then, one day her son disappears. In a panic,
she searches all over for him, and goes slightly over the edge
in her search. Rueta learns that the children her son is speaking
to are the ghosts of the children she grew up with, and the
strange old lady was once an employee of the orphanage who's
deformed son was accidentally killed by the other children.
So, she poisoned the little brats, but this happened after Rueta
had been adopted away. Probably by some pervy parents who liked
looking at her chest.
The Orphanage then follows Rueta as she
tries to piece together the history of the children, of the
mysterious woman, and follow clues to where her son has disappeared
to. It has loads of atmosphere, and the setting of a big, old
creaky house with lots of confusing hallways and old furniture.
As Rueta loses her mind, she lets paranormal investigators come
and poke around, little children's voices are heard screaming
through walls, and glimpses of ghosts are seen.
Some of bumps in the night are effective. Some
aren't. The real problem, is the skeleton of the story is way
too familiar. Orphans, old, creepy institution, a children who
sees dead kids, a mother searching for her child, and a mystery
that must be solved to quiet the dead before she can. All of
that is pretty much done already. Where the story is going is
pretty clear, and the only reason to watch is to see how it
will get there.
Oh, and Rueta's rack. She's not that hot,, but
she runs around the house at night in just an undershirt. A
lot. Maybe this isn't that big a deal to other guys. Maybe I'm
deprived, because whenever Mrs. Filthy does that for me, the
people downstairs complain that their ceiling caves in. Oh,
to be rich enough for concrete floors.
Ghost-faced sad kids in dark houses are pretty
effectively creepy. So are old women digging up bones. Nice
racks, aren't, but they are a fair reward for getting through
all the spooky shit. The Orphanage is not the kind of
movie where they try to make you jump out of your seat or wet
your pants. It's more classy, like European shit usually is.
It's about building dread and making the hair on your arms stand
up. A deformed kid stumps around in a burlap sack mask, a dying
medium screams through a door for sick kids to let her in, and
footprints in the sand disappear. Of course, that last one could
have been Jesus Christ carrying me on his back. The guy never
shuts up about doing that for me.
What The Orphanage ends up being is just
a slight variation on the ghost stories that's been told too
many times already. It's done spookier and with more subtlety,
and there are some real chills. But, come on already, we've
seen enough kids who talk to distressed kids already. And mom's
are way hotter when they are morose over the loss of a child.
I wouldn't mind seeing Rueta run a marathon, though. At night.
In a bouncy castle. Three Fingers.