Smiley (2012): F

Alas, this dismal creation hath naught to offer. It lacks innovation, and its characters possess no semblance of likability. Every scare it attempts hinges solely upon jarring cuts accompanied by piercing synth stabs that throttle the eardrums most violently, especially if viewing this film in the stupor of an opium binge. The entire affair reeks of pretentious film students, eager to impress with their hollow craftsmanship. I am helpless to shield my eyes from this assault, Dear Reader! In this opium-induced stupor, I am both captive and slave to the abysmal narrative of Smiley, ensnared as I surrender to the seductive allure of the poppy’s embrace!

The unlikeable science-fiction drek Dark Skies, with desperate ambition, weaves three consecutive false climaxes, utilizing the tired device of awakening abruptly from a dream (within a dream within a dream). The result is a harrowing descent into a punishing conclusion, tormenting the viewer with the wretchedness of this alien tale. Smiley, on the other hand, audaciously subjects us to six such instances of false climax, followed by a double twist ending. Within this opium-infused dreamscape, my own skies darken, the boundaries of reason blur, and the fabric of reality unravels. Oh thank God for the poppy! 

In the realm of Smiley, it is said that if one visits a particular video chat site and types “I did it for the lulz” thrice, a blade-wielding serial killer shall materialize behind the unsuspecting chat partner, proceeding to commit a gruesome murder. Protagonist Ashley and her dubious companion, lured by morbid curiosity, dare to test this nefarious ritual, only to be horrified when it indeed manifests its dark consequences. Thus unfolds a distressing journey through the labyrinth of paranoia and false scares, accompanied by abysmal acting, woeful writing, and the disconcerting presence of perspiring men engaging in vulgar acts within the confines of their virtual chat chambers. In the most maddening doldrums of my haze, I sought out the accursed chat chamber and tried in vain to configure a sort of feedback loop so that I might afflict myself with the hex of the “lulz,”thus freeing myself from the grip of this vile film.

The cast comprises nameless souls, Z-list attractions from the netherrealm of YouTube, and the sparing appearance of Keith David, who graces the screen for a mere fraction of time. A discerning eye would note the repetitive nature of the extras, for a limited number of souls populate the background, appearing repeatedly like apparitions haunting a forsaken realm. Although I admit, reality took on a most kaleidoscopic nature as the poppy drifted through my consciousness, so it is entirely possible that the duplicate phantoms were slivers of my shattered reality spinning and spinning and SPINNING as I longed for the release of the lulz! 

The killer, named Smiley, is dubbed by one character as “the world’s first viral serial killer.” A far-fetched claim, indeed. Would it not be more fitting to deem him the “first emoticon-based serial killer”? For a decade or more, internet horror films have plagued the screens (recall Fear Dot Com), and countless cinematic endeavors have been born from urban legends (consider, for instance, Urban Legend). Smiley himself is a mere mortal, concealed in a nondescript trench coat. Oh, what an ostentatious display of imaginative genius!

Smiley’s countenance embodies what it feels like to view this film as seconds stretch into hours in a bewildering fog of opium: His eyes, sewn shut, and his mouth carved into a permanent, ghastly smile, resemble not only a disfigured, infected big toe, but also my own petrified countenance, no doubt frozen in a ghoulish and vacant gaze for days!

In a disconcerting twist, Ashley’s Ethics teacher speculates upon the possibility of the internet gaining consciousness and evolving into a malevolent force. Smiley, perchance, personifies this malevolence, delighting in the slaughter of those who indulge in lascivious acts within the digital realm… on the very internet itself. How this purported authority on Ethics is qualified to expound upon such matters (and why, in the name of all that is rational, would he discuss them within the confines of an Ethics class?) remains shrouded in uncertainty, akin to the wisps of chest hair protruding from his meticulously groomed attire and the wisps of cloud that shroud my mind.

My deepest solace lies in the conclusion of this accursed film, where none remain to feign performances, to utter senseless dialogue, or to desecrate the screen with their presence. In the quietude that ensues, I find respite from this torment that has plagued my very being. And now, visions of Smiley dance before my half-closed eyes, their ethereal forms shimmering with an otherworldly glow, as if painted by the hand of a mad artist who seeks to carve the lulz into my soul.