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Demonic possession. Why can't filmmakers get this no brainer genre concept right? Aside from William Friedkin's brilliant The Exorcist, the movies that make the most of this idea are few and far between. The Eli Roth produced The Last Exorcism? Had to devolve into a Rosemary's Baby rip-off at the end. The Rite? Needed to rely on a ridiculous performance by Anthony Hopkins to be anything other than worthless. Now, we get the found footage fiasco that is The Devil Inside. This is one of those "you are there" experiences, masquerading as a 'documentary' about a young woman's pursuit of the past, that shows us the "reality" of battling Satan. The only thing you will wind up waging war against is utter boredom.
When she was a small child, Isabella Rossi (Fernanda Andrade) experienced the tragic loss of her mother (Suzan Crowley). No, she didn't die - she killed three people during a botched exorcism and has since been a resident in a mental hospital in Rome. Now, some 20 years later and armed with a documentarian (Ionut Grama), she intends to find out what really happened, and if her parent is indeed possessed by demons. Initially, she meets resistance from both the Vatican and the staff at the asylum. Eventually, she finds a pair of priests (Simon Quarterman, Evan Helmuth) who agree to help. However, they have a couple of conditions for their cooperation. First, they must meet the mother to determine her situation for themselves...and second, Isabella must witness an actual example of the ritual for herself. It's the only way she can understand what they will all be fighting against.
Talk about a stack of wasted prospects. The Devil Inside is so chock full of paranormal potential that when it goes pear-shaped (and it does early, often, and for the vast majority of the thankfully short running time), you actually want to cry. Horror fans know what to expect: the police investigation footage that just so happens to focus its lens on a darkened corner of a blood-strewn basement; the rogue clergymen who practice the prohibited rites to their - and the audience's - detriment; the naive young woman who thinks she can confront the King Hellbeast and survive; the various shaky-cam moments when CG altered bodies and faces fly at the camera. It's all here in droning drudgery, like the outline for a fright film that someone forgot to fill out properly.
There are really only four major scare sequences here, and only one works - partially. When our manic men of the cloth visit a local case they have been working on, the basement setting and bone crunching chaos points everything in the right direction. Then director William Brent Bell decides we need more of actress Fernanda Andrade looking moody and mopey, and so the camera focuses on her as she blathers on and on. Soon, tempers are flaring and people are screaming for no good reason. By the time of the "twist" (a mandatory maneuver for any Blair Witch inspired pile of cinematic hogwash) and the various ramifications of same, we wish we were under the power of some underworld imp. It would make the last few minutes somewhat tolerable.
With its back and forth theological twaddle and lack of any legitimate dread, The Devil Inside is a disaster posing as a slice of sacrilege. It doesn't seem real, never becomes anything other than a bad b-movie employing a lazy gimmick to get its equally inert points across, and commits the cardinal sin for a film like this - it's just not frightened. An exorcism should horrify you. The Devil Inside is too illogical and lame to do anything but make you mad.
Talk about a stack of wasted prospects. The Devil Inside is so chock full of paranormal potential that when it goes pear-shaped (and it does early, often, and for the vast majority of the thankfully short running time), you actually want to cry. Horror fans know what to expect: the police investigation footage that just so happens to focus its lens on a darkened corner of a blood-strewn basement; the rogue clergymen who practice the prohibited rites to their - and the audience's - detriment; the naive young woman who thinks she can confront the King Hellbeast and survive; the various shaky-cam moments when CG altered bodies and faces fly at the camera. It's all here in droning drudgery, like the outline for a fright film that someone forgot to fill out properly.
There are really only four major scare sequences here, and only one works - partially. When our manic men of the cloth visit a local case they have been working on, the basement setting and bone crunching chaos points everything in the right direction. Then director William Brent Bell decides we need more of actress Fernanda Andrade looking moody and mopey, and so the camera focuses on her as she blathers on and on. Soon, tempers are flaring and people are screaming for no good reason. By the time of the "twist" (a mandatory maneuver for any Blair Witch inspired pile of cinematic hogwash) and the various ramifications of same, we wish we were under the power of some underworld imp. It would make the last few minutes somewhat tolerable.
With its back and forth theological twaddle and lack of any legitimate dread, The Devil Inside is a disaster posing as a slice of sacrilege. It doesn't seem real, never becomes anything other than a bad b-movie employing a lazy gimmick to get its equally inert points across, and commits the cardinal sin for a film like this - it's just not frightened. An exorcism should horrify you. The Devil Inside is too illogical and lame to do anything but make you mad.
