What's a horror fan to expect from this far-from-reverent remake of the 1953 Vincent Price classic? Forty-five minutes of stultifying boredom, followed by preposterous carnage pilfered from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and right in line with the previous atrocities committed by the Dark Castle production house (Thirteen Ghosts). Oh, well; no major spoilers there. To those of us living in the shocking pink shadow of Club Paris, the only remaining issue is how much vicarious pleasure we can derive from Ms. Hilton's supporting role as a hedonistic piece of homicide bait. Not much, sadly: The bitch takes forever to die, and when she does, her lifeless corpse is so obviously a mannequin that it sucks all the fun out of the experience. As for her "acting," she doesn't just phone in her performance; she podcasts it.
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