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Sam Raimi calls his signature brand of schlock horror "spook-a-blast", and one viewing of Drag Me to Hell confirms exactly how apt that moniker is. This is Raimi's long-awaited return to the genre since taking his extended Spidey sojourn, and those who suspected he'd lost his mojo after the qualitatively suspect Spider-Man 3 can rest assured: the Sam Raimi who burst onto the scene with the ultra-low-budget The Evil Dead is alive and well. Although there have been glimpses of pure Raimi in his recent outings - the Doc Ock operating room sequence in Spider-Man 2 comes to mind - they were buried within fairly typical, if often proficient, blockbuster fare. As if to compensate, with Drag Me to Hell the director has cranked the Raimi-ometer up to 11; this is full-on, bile-spewing, ear-splitting, no-holds-barred stuff. Remarkably, considering that apparently no concessions have been made for the censors, it has been awarded with a PG-13 rating in the States, proving conclusively that "PG-13 horror" does not have to be an oxymoron.
The plot is surprisingly prescient, through coincidence or otherwise, involving as it does a bank worker who refuses a mortgage extension for a client whose house is due to be repossessed. Not a rare occurrence in the current economic climate, but here the wronged customer happens to be a rather deranged old gypsy witch, who promptly places a curse on the person who refused her the loan, a twentysomething called Christine, played by Alison Lohman. Lohman, a fortunate replacement for Ellen Page, proves to be both likeable and game for whatever Raimi has to throw at her - and she is really put through the wringer.
One of the key ingredients in any good horror, whose effectiveness can be overlooked, is the sound. In this department Drag Me to Hell is masterful. Making maximum use of multi-directional sound, along with some of the loudest jump scares ever, this is a film that really benefits from a well-equipped cinema (when the film reaches home viewing its impact will be greatly reduced on all but the beefiest sound systems). The sound effects both inexorably build the suspense and send popcorn flying in fright when the situation demands it. Another element in the aural experience is the music, here contributed by horror specialist Christopher Young (who took over scoring on the Spider-Man franchise after Raimi fell out with Danny Elfman), which, utilising some Bernard Herrmann-esque touches, is a lesson in how to use an orchestra in the aid of good scares while also being just great music in its own right.
Probably the film's best set-piece comes quite early in proceedings, as Christine has a parking garage-set tussle with her begrudged tormentor. After this, as the scares become more supernatural in nature, they actually become less disturbing. Also, after a while, a pattern can be identified, with the big scare sequences sandwiched between scenes of respite, making some of the shocks somewhat telegraphed. Nevertheless, it remains so good-natured and entertaining throughout that the flaws are forgivable. Raimi emphatically rejects the recent Hostel/Saw trend of sadistic horror; here there are certainly some disgusting sights but they're always accompanied by great laughs. Seeing this with a sizeable and receptive audience is a must. Now, if only a certain Mr. Jackson fancied returning to his splatstick roots...
The summary
Raimi returns to the genre in which he made his name and shows all the young pretenders exactly how it should be done. Spook-a-blast indeed.
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