050: Dolhouse (2012)

Forty or so films ago, I watched Kirsten Sheridan’s 2001 shitstorm debut Disco Pigs. I signed off the post mentioning this upcoming new film hers’, the one which I am currently avoiding writing about, and I thought sounded ‘really rather good’. Clearly, I must have been under some heavy narcotics, because Dollhouse is the worst film I’ve ever seen. Period. I’m done. Even Michael Bay films are better than this.

Six petulant Irish teenagers break into a swanky vacant house for the weekend. What follows is six petulant Irish teenagers, running around going, and I quote, ‘ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!’. Aside from screaming, they get pissed on Barcardi Breezers, high from sniffing glue and someone quite literally drops a baby bomb.

One of the worst things about the film, and there are many to choose from, is that some kind of illogical thought process has gone on in the mind of filmmaker Sheridan. It’s as if she is working with an unearned idiosyncratic style that tries to blend comedy and extremism as never envisaged before. But there’s a reason that no one has attempted to work in this way, as it just feels like someone’s spunking all over celluloid for ninety five minutes. Dollhouse is an unrelentingly spiteful, pernicious film, devoid of any retrievable merit. In other words, it’s just plain shit.

If you take just one thing from this 2012 blog, let it be this word of advice: please avoid this film at all costs. It is highly dangerous, flammable and above all painful.


THE BAD: The fact that I had to endure this horrid experience. Someone hold me.

☆☆☆☆☆☆ (if I could give minus stars the amount of HTML inputting would crash the server. Probably the whole internet.)


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