Before I go into reviewing this movie, I'd like to explain something. I write a review when I feel a movie needs one, that is, when a movie gets mixed reviews and I'd like to add my two cents, or when a movie gets burned and I think it's not that bad, or when it gets hallowed and I think it's not that good, or when I think a movie could use a little exposure while it's not featured on Nate's gallery. This time however, my review is a warning.

Cradle Of Fear is a British movie, written and directed by Alex Chandon, and was released in 2001. "Enough blood and guts to satisfy the most terminal gorehounds... You have been warned", Neil Norman of the Evening Standard supposedly wrote. Don't judge a DVD movie by its cover, I've been around long enough to know how true this is. This movie features Dani Filth, vocalist of British metal ensemble Cradle Of Filth, hence the self promoting movie title. I knew what I was getting myself into: this is supposed to be contemporary teenage horror. This is not a bad thing, per se; Someone shoot me in the head when I finally decide to really grow up.

Let's get the synopsis out of the way, what little of it there is. Kemper (David McEwen) is a serial killer and a hypnotist who's now doing time in an asylum. He's got a satanic devotee, The Man (Dani Filth), executing Kemper's revenge on the outside world by randomly butchering young (wo)men. Mentally scarred detective Neilson (Edmund Dehn) follows the bloody trail to the source of Kemper's unleashed evil.

Well, that's it folks. The movie is so unfocused that it makes Clive Barker seem like Alfred Hitchcock's reincarnation. What's Neilson's beef with Kemper, or The Man, anyway? What's the relation between The Man and Kemper? And what's with the silly ending, in the context of the story(?) at hand? Don't get me wrong, I love interpretive cinema. Give me almost any David Lynch movie, or Dante Tomaselli's, or even Dario Argento's loosest efforts and I'm a happy man. But Cradle Of Fear is not interpretive, because there's absolutely nothing to interpret. I've been watching a series of highly unlikely events, dragged forward with horrible acting performances, unfocused directing and no narrative context to go by. All this, drenched in buckets of strawberry syrup. This would have been fine, had they thrown in some cheesy humor to make it 'so bad it's good', as is the case with Troma's Redneck Zombies for instance. Alas. Now, I just want my two hours of wasted lifetime back. As for the gore, well, go watch Buio Omega or Premutos or something but steer clear of this piece of trash.

This is a 2 from me - one point extra because there's a slight chance it just might serve a purpose: as background image projection on a black metal party, or as inspirational darkroom imagery for those who're into strawberry syrup fetishism.

Be warned.