DEAD AWAKE. The lack of sincerity is easy to sense

It’s hard to understand why such bland and derivative films make it into theatrical distribution. Dead Awake is a horror movie so hollow, so devoid of content and meaning, that it could only have been made to swindle viewers out of their money. Belief in the success of a patchwork of genre clichés—in an era when films like Get Out and It clearly show that audiences expect something entirely different—can only be rooted in sheer naivety. The viewing experience is so painful that one could suspect director Phillip Guzman of belonging to a faction obsessed with Cenobite-style torture, and ourselves of having unknowingly taken part in a new (supposedly already filmed but still unreleased) Hellraiser sequel.

Expectations for a horror movie rated to allow fifteen-year-olds in the same theater can’t be too high, but even with that in mind, Dead Awake doesn’t deserve the slightest bit of leniency. The harshness of my opinion stems directly from the calculated cynicism of the film’s creators (not to be confused with the concept of a nightmare). Their motivation was clearly easy money—nothing more. Sure, the cinematography is passable, the acting barely tolerable, and the sound design serviceable in its cautious blandness (hence the “D” grade instead of a complete failure), but you’d be far better off watching productions from Troma Studios. They may not dazzle with praiseworthy quality, but at least their motives are pure. A love for film, a passion for scaring people, and—above all—a concern for the viewer’s enjoyment: that’s what drives Lloyd Kaufman and his collaborators (and don’t think you’ve never heard of any of them—James Gunn, director of Superman, started his career at Troma).

The lack of sincerity in Dead Awake is as easy to sense as that of a door-to-door salesman in an oversized suit, trying to push a “revolutionary” vacuum cleaner or some other piece of junk with a one-week warranty the moment he steps through your door. People with poor assertiveness might have trouble saying “no” to someone’s face, so maybe a few of you will end up with that lousy vacuum—but don’t let Dead Awake con you the same way. Some have tried to compare Guzman’s film to A Nightmare on Elm Street, on the basis that both involve death linked to sleep.

But to accept such a comparison would be to open the door to many equally absurd parallels—like comparing Botox to The Scream of the Embryo just because they both touch on abortion; or Assassin’s Creed to Suicide Room because they deal with virtual reality; or King Arthur to The Witcher just because there’s a sword involved. The only reason to draw connections to Wes Craven’s brilliant story is the complete lack of an original narrative in Dead Awake. The character played by Jocelin Donahue (it’s painful to see an actress from the excellent The House of the Devil and the solid Summer Camp and Holidays fall so far) moves mechanically from point A to point B—without credibility, without evoking even the faintest emotional response.

The viewer is left a passive observer, like a child staring into the spinning glass of a washing machine. Dead Awake isn’t even one of those “so-bad-it’s-fun” movies. There’s nothing to laugh at here—it’s pure, unbearable boredom, useful only as a torture device. Don’t reward ignorance. Don’t waste your time on lazy formulas. You’ll find more authenticity in Letters to Santa or even in Paddington.