Grace! Look at you in your bridal gown, shotgun on your hip, ammunition draped bandolero style! You look like a woman who can take care of herself, who can outsmart her aggressor and win by her own hand. You look like someone Ellen Ripley would be proud to call a sister. You’re no throwback, dumb baby who needs male protection, or a slut/bitch who needs taking down or another screaming, wide-eyed hunted horror girl. You’re a modern, self-sufficient heroine–you’re armed, you’re dangerous, you’re gonna turn the tables on these rich assholes.
Ready or Not, here you come!
Before we get started, I do want to mention one thing: you are rather fixated on making people you don’t know like you–and making them your instant family–despite the fact that your fiancé Alex is estranged from them. That’s a little weird, and not very modern, but then again, after the whole killing-game thing is revealed, you do shut down Alex’s “Well, you wanted to get married,” with, “so it’s my fault?” Victim-blaming jerk. Brava!
Oh, and there is one more thing: you seem a little tone-deaf, to be frank. Why didn’t you listen to Alex when he asked you to meet him in his room after you pulled the Hide and Seek card? Seems like you didn’t you catch the vibe in the room at all. And then, later, when you choose the wrong door, you burst out into the hallway, rather than opening the door slowly and peeking out, the way you might if there were people in the house trying to kill you.
But if that’s your style, that’s cool, because when Daniel surprises you in the study, we know it’s about to go down: he’s drinking, carrying his weapon on his shoulder and totally unthreatening…get ready for some table turning!
Just an aside: You seem terrified. Like, Shelley Duvall terrified. Understandable, but the family members are gimlet-eyed about it all, so it feels like the movie really wants us to focus on how over-the-top terrified you are, like in one of those older, girl-hunt horror films. Is that to fake us out for when the table-turning starts?
Okay, so here we go…ready or not, Grace is going to kick Daniel’s ass!
Except, hold on…not only do you make no move against him or even try to run away, you beg him to help you. Beg. Not demand, or even ask. Beg. And he responds by giving you a few seconds lead time to get away. Probably another feint.
And it is! You head to the game room to arm yourself! Hurray!
And there you are in all your poster glory: damaged gown, high tops and bandolero gear. Protagnonista! How about a badass line about who’s hiding now? No? Just an incredulous, disappointed “Jesus.” Guess you’re not that psyched about your new role.
But you must be, cause when face to face with the curiously dedicated manservant, you take aim and fire! Only the gun won’t shoot because the bullets are for show only. The ammo belt has no ammo; the shells are shells. Is it a metaphor? Maybe not–at least you smash that guy in the face with the teapot. And to be fair, it’s not your fault that you happened to pick the only weapon in the game room that doesn’t work, but it is too bad that your first play for agency didn’t pay off.
As I watch you run across the lawn with the Terminator manservant close behind, I can’t help but ask: why did the movie think it was a good idea to take you away from the family, the main point of tension, and have you hunted by this guy you have no relationship with for a big chunk of Act II?
And when are you going to take a moment to sort out your thoughts, to strategize, to do that table-turning we talked about? If you don’t, I’m not sure I trust this movie at this point not to throw some really bad, old-fashioned, degrading stuff at you.
Like being dissed and dismissed by more men you ask for help: the guy in the car dumb bitches you and the On Star guidance guy gaslights you about your unlady-like behavior.
Or getting seriously hurt: You rip your back on the gate, you’re shot in the hand, you fall at least ten feet into a corpse pit and then, climbing out, stick the same injured hand on a large rusty nail.
And that’s just you, what about those poor Addicted to Love video girls: one is shot in the face, another with a crossbow and one is nearly decapitated in a dumbwaiter. None of them die right away, which is played for laughs.
Are we in a post-mysogyny-torture porn moment I don’t know about? Is that the update?
In the woods, you end up begging Daniel for your life again, but this time you get through to him: he not only poisons his own family but also gets shot and killed while defending you! Huh. Thought you were gonna do your own rescuing…
But wait–here’s your big moment! Finally, a confrontation with a family member (oddly, the only one who has been nice to you) not angry Aunt Helene or cold-hearted Charity or tee-time Dad. Not even the frat boy and his coked-out wife. Nope, it’s Becky, the one woman in the entire cast of characters who isn’t crazy, irrational, venal, or stupid. Now, I get that you had to kill her, but you rather savagely bludgeon her to death–the only death that isn’t played for laughs in the whole movie. So feels like you’re out of step with the fun, spirited killing that everyone else is doing. Like your feminine rage has spilled over in a crazy, Carrie White way–who, by the way, you start to resemble as the body count rises.
At least Carrie got back at everyone who was mean to her–you’re completely deprived of the well-earned, emotional release reserved for the table-turning final girl. You know, the one where the protagonist gets to destroy her tormentor like Sidney Prescott did? But for you, turns out a man is going to take care of all that. In the end, it’s Le Bail who kills the family, not you. He not only disposes of your enemies for you, he gives you a creepy little nod at the end. Like an uncle who gives you a pat on the head after leaving his hand too long on your upper thigh. Euw.
Oh Grace. What happened to the girl on the poster? She would have survived using her wits and skills, rather than looking to and depending on men to help her. She would have figured out how to beat these incompetents at their own game and would have been the one to ultimately destroy the perpetrator of her misery, her lying sack of shit husband–and possibly even Le Bail himself.
And for the record, I don’t blame you–you were programmed by the male director, the other male director, the male screenwriter and the other male screenwriter.
They got you into this mess.
Did they give you a lollipop when you were done?
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