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2005 hasn't been a vintage year for horror films. We've already had to endure the likes of Robert de Niro's atrocious Hide and Seek, the appalling remake of the Amityville Horror and the lamentable Boogeyman. All were little more than cynical marketing exercises by Hollywood studios keen to make a fast buck in the quiet winter months. The sad thing is that all of them were modest commercial successes, and may have paved the way for this latest effort which is easily down there with the rest of them in terms of quality. In fact, The Skeleton Key is such a dismal affair that it begs the question: on what day did some Hollywood executive give this the green light, and couldn't he have taken that day off?
The real shame about this film is that its director and most of its stars are way better than the material. British helmer Iain Softley has an impressive track record, including the under-rated K-Pax, while promising up-and-comer Peter Sarsgaard shares screen time with such cinematic legends as John Hurt and Gena Rowlands. Screenwriter Ehren Kruger may have rewritten the American version of The Ring, but here he delivers a one-dimensional slapdash effort.
The story - which really is barely worth repeating - concerns a young nurse called Caroline Ellis (Kate Hudson), who leaves her job as a residential carer at the beginning of the film because she hates the way in which her patients are being treated. She finds a job in the swamps surrounding New Orleans at the home of Violet and Ben (Rowlands and Hurt), an old couple living out their time in a faded mansion.
Cue a series of events in a plot which is as creaky as the house itself. Ben has had a stroke, but seems to be communicating to Caroline. There's a spooky attic which is forbidden. Figures from the past haunt the house, mirrors are banned and there is much talk of 'hoodoo'. Meanwhile a young lawyer (Sarsgaard) comforts Caroline as she becomes suspicious of her employers' motives. Cliché follows cliché, and soon the only enjoyment is in spotting familiar themes dressed up in new clothes.
As a result, The Skeleton Key becomes more of a comedy than anything else, as Hudson, replete with furrowed brow, attempts to convince us of the terror of her surroundings. The only real horror will be for the unfortunate paying customers who have shelled out good money to see this nonsense (although in fairness Rowlands does deliver one of the year's most unintentionally hilarious lines in the last five minutes of the film, which is one of the few memorable things about it). A much better option would be to avoid this altogether and rent Alan Parker's Angel Heart instead for a real perspective on how to make a film about black magic.
Paul Hurley