Viewers melt with fear in “˜Wax’

Whether you’re lured by the catchy tag line, “Slay.
Prey. Display.” or by the even more eloquent promise to,
“See Paris Die,” “House of Wax” is one film
that doesn’t renege on its customer guarantee. In fact, it
slays, preys, displays, and hacks its audience into a gory,
unrecognizable pulp as a bonus.

The movie begins with artistic foreboding, set in sepia tones
and faceless characters. It’s a scene, however, that is out
of place in such a film. As soon as it’s over and the color
is reset back to high-definition resolution, it becomes clear that
this is a movie, like the horrifically displayed wax creations,
that only begins as art but is inwardly reeking of rot, blood and
all things nauseating.

With the exception of Carly (Elisha Cuthbert), Paige (Paris
Hilton), Nick (Chad Michael Murray) and their band of goons have
developed characters of nil, cruising confidently off their WB-star
good looks and youth until they die. As the natural laws of showbiz
dictate, guys like Nick are to be in constant and equal conflict
with guys like Wade (Jared Padalecki); Nick’s
I’m-too-cool-for-school sneer is played off Wade’s
I’m-too-school-for-cool naivete. Wade, Carly’s
boyfriend, along with Nick, manage to heckle and make a lot of
noise; it’s all in pointless, good fun until you realize that
Nick is Carly’s fraternal twin. Then you get really confused.
The sexual attraction between the twins is so palpable that you
could cut it with a large, sharp, metallic stick in the head.

Hilton’s leading role follows her into the “House of
Wax,” as every scene is spent making out with her onscreen
boyfriend Blake (Robert Richard); the director takes gleeful
license in Hilton’s role in his film, displaying her wares in
a familiar green light, before killing her off in her bra and
panties. To her credit, she is at least not annoying and somewhat
likeable.

The antagonists are Vincent and Bo Sinclair (both played by
Brian Van Holt). The premise of their psychosis is horrifying but
not surprising ““ it is, after all, in the trailer and tag
line. It’s the kind of horror where you can’t believe
such an elaborate crime had gone unchecked for so long.

The pace of the terror is performed like a slow death; classic
slasher flick screeching violins sneak up on you like an annoying
little brother in a Freddy mask, until one day it’s the real
Freddy and you didn’t know, and he slashes you up to bits.
Each death is maniacal and random without real motive; in fact, the
feeling of death is inevitable, until, of course, the audience is
left so terrified the only thing that would redeem the human race
would be if the wax-house murderer were ultimately killed.

-Jacki Jou