Lumberjack Man

Meta and horror work well together in so many ways. Scream’s dissection of genre tropes, Cabin In The Woods’ re-contextualizing of those tropes, The Final Girls’ use of the tropes for comedy, and even X embracing and throwing shade at the idea of “elevated horror” at the same time. There are ways to make meta work without breaking the immersion or insulting your audience. Unfortunately, Lumberjack Man doesn’t understand that. Its version of meta isn’t to be clever or subtle. It isn’t to examine or criticize. Lumberjack uses meta as a sledgehammer. It looks back on camp slashers from the 80’s like Sleepaway Camp, Friday The 13th, and The Burning, sees what has made those movies relevant in horror for 40 years, boils it down to its barest essentials, throws them at you in a non-stop barrage, and then winks at you and says “get it?”. But that’s not how it works. As a wise man once said, it’s not enough to know what notes to play, you need to know why they need to be played. Lumberjack Man’s simplistic, “ingredients are all that matters, and more is better” mentality makes that crucial misread. As common as it was to see nudity in 80’s horror, it was used in a way that made sense; a group of friends goes skinny dipping, or a couple has sex, and often it was used in conjunction with highlighting the vulnerability of the situation. Lumberjack Man has, no joke, probably 80% of its female cast get topless, and it never makes sense. Why are two friends going skinny dipping and rubbing their own bodies standing on the beach like a Playboy video? Why does one counselor come out of the shower, in a cabin by herself, and drop lotion on her chest and rub it in as if to seduce a lover, even though she’s alone? Why does the Final Girl have to strip to her underwear and douse herself in maple syrup and run in slow motion to highlight the jiggling of her breasts? It’s the more-is-better mentality. Don’t just give the audience some, give it to them constantly and then wink at them, and then it’s a tongue in cheek homage! No, it’s not. No matter how much the movie dumps gratuitous boob shots, no matter how much blood it has raining down, it never feels like it’s being done out of loving tribute, nor out of winking cleverness. It’s like if someone thought you made the best brownies ever, so you decided to incorporate a dozen chocolate bars into your next batch. Overkill for the sake of it is not an homage, and it certainly isn’t an understand of what makes the genre work, and no amount of lampshading jokes the movie offers up in the process makes it okay. This was a chore to sit through, and I don’t recommend anybody else try.