You know what? No.

We're not doing this.

It takes Verónica an entire hour of dragging its feet before it finally did something unexpected. A whole hour before it found its own voice, said something of its own, then lapsed back into boilerplate.

Before that it was as entertaining as a teenager watching the classroom clock waiting for recess. Waiting for the 30-minute bell so it could give us a scare while wasting a fun character in the Hermana Muerte, someone whose one good line is the main salvageable thing one can scavenge from under the caked layers of trope make-up.

I've written and thrown away a couple of thousand words about Veronica, trying to find 400 which I didn't write better before, when I was dissecting how Under the Shadow got all Syd Fielded.

I hate repeating myself. If your movie is nothing but a different dress on the same skeleton propping up so many other films, if you are so unimaginative that a movie about a Spanish high-schooler with an Ouija board follows the same exact beats as movies about a besieged Iranian mother and her child or a bunch of soldiers fighting ghosts in future Moldova, I can't be arsed to do anything but rant.

Originally published in my old blog

#veronica #sydfielded #pacoplaza #sandraescacena #consuelotrujillo #horror