I recently posted about ARACHNOPHOBIA, a film that wasn’t as fun as I remembered. On the other end of the cinematic spectrum, for Horrorclature I rewatched IDLE HANDS, a film I last watched many moons ago. I recall it as an amusing, charismatic trifle.
I did not appreciate it as much as I should have.
IDLE HANDS — from director Rodman Flender and prolific genre writers Terri Hughes Burton and Ron Milbauer — features post-high school burnout stoner Anton Tobias, gangly and goofily played by Devon Sawa, living in his parent’s basement and oblivious to anything but his own physical wants, to the point where it takes him days to realize that his parents were murdered by a local serial killer.
“IM UNDER THE BED”
His friends — the always comical Seth Green and Elden Henson — ultimately realize that Anton, or more precisely Anton’s possessed hand, executed his parents. Shortly after, Anton’s hand takes them out. However, for mostly inexplicable reasons, they come back from the dead to do what they do best: hang out, watch lascivious TV, and smoke up.
“The killer was wearing me. I was the killer.”
Anton has a crush on fellow local, the alluring songwriter Molly, handled by Jessica Alba letting her freak flag fly when Anton finally confronts her, while trying to restrain his hand through some playful B&D.
“Shit, my parents are home. We’ll have to pick this up later, Babysnakes. My parents might take offense to some dirty, bloody boy banging their daughter.”
All the while a nebulous woman named Debi — gamely played by the singular Vivica A. Fox — has been traveling trying to restrain the spirit that inhabits these slackers.
“I come from a long line of Druidic priestesses sworn to fight a certain evil force that possesses the laziest fuck-up it can find.”
Matters escalate in a cartoonish manner that mirrors THE ADDAMS FAMILY’s Thing. It has been a while since I’ve seen a film utilize so much hand imagery since last watching BIRDS OF PREY. (To be fair, I watch BIRDS OF PREY far more often than I should.)
While this is a very silly and filthy film, it’s also very sly, with extremely exacting dialogue that expertly conveys the ennui of one’s twenties. It is also an exceptional representation of late 90s/early naughts horror, with its SE7EN-esque title sequence and THE OFFSPRING playing at a Halloween ball, not-so-subtly playing a cover of THE RAMONES I Wanna Be Sedated. (“I can’t control my fingers; I can’t control my brain!”)
“Well, my work here is done. Time for the ritualistic sex. Comin’?”