House at the End of the Street: Tanks for the Mammaries

Somewhere up the road from the House on the Edge of the Park and just around the corner of The Last House on the Left, you will find the House at the End of the Street. I suppose if you were a little more optimistic, you could consider it the beginning of the street, but optimism isn’t a trait that will do much good for you going into this urinal stain of a film.    

Directed by Mark Tonderai, House at the End of the Street (or #HATES, if you’re a big Twitter user) is a psychological thriller starring Jennifer Lawrence as Elissa, a young woman with a voice so beautiful she sounds absolutely perfect whether she’s singing in the woods or a garage, but I digress. Elissa and her single, overprotective mother (played by Elisabeth Shue, who looks fantastic despite the tiredly written character) have just moved from the mean streets of Chicago to the not so mean gravel roads of some place in the woods. A place that, on the surface, seems safe, but little do they know that just four years earlier a little girl slaughtered her parents... in the HOUSE AT THE END OF THE STREET!

Being the new gal in the wooded ‘hood as well as being the lead singer in the sickest band in Chicago, Elissa is getting a lot of attention from all the boys, specifically a young loner type named Ryan (Max Thieriot). Ryan has a bit of a bad rep around town due to the fact that he is the oldest son of the people who were gruesomely murdered in the HOUSE AT THE END OF THE STREET! Worse yet, he still lives in the very house at the end of the street where his parents were killed, something that really ticks everyone off. Regardless, Elissa and Ryan hit it off, and it seems that all the negativity driven towards Ryan is unwarranted, so she’s all ready to drop her drawers for him at any minute. However, when your parents were slayed by your very own sister in the very house at the end of the street that you still live in, you are more than likely not to be trusted. Unfortunately for Elissa, this is the case.

It’s okay, though, because the power of song will protect us like a warm blanket on a winter’s day.

House at the End of the Street gets full use out of the word ‘generic’ in terms of storytelling and character development. In fact, it’s only a few dollars and a handful of good actors above a Lifetime movie, though at least most Lifetime movies can be pretty entertaining. While mostly a technically well-made film, hashtag hates is plagued by some horrific, random editing choices as well as strange attempts at stylized camerawork. I almost applaud the fact that there is an actual attempt at style, but unfortunately it’s as successful as me “attempting” to be Mr. Universe. The dialogue also shines about as brightly as sandpaper, as there are moments where characters barf out some utterly atrocious dialogue. One specific moment in particular is a scene where Elissa and her friend are talking about one of the boys in school:

Friend: “He’s a dick!”
Elissa: “He’s worse than a dick... he’s a dickhole!”
Friend: “Dickhole’s the new asshole.”

*laughter*

Me: “What the fuck.”

Moving on (and thankfully so), I feel as a member of society I am obligated to talk about one of the biggest stars of hashtag hates:

Elissa’s White Tank Top

The white tank top is THE perfect attire for the slightly dirty (but not, like, gross dirty), sweaty girl in peril, who also happens to have a very healthy amount of milk in the fridge. Oh, how the snuggly fit and slightly translucent fabric moves so gracefully around JLaw’s breasts as they swing around like a tilt-a-whirl covered by a tarp. It almost seems as if this wardrobe choice was intentionally exploiting her upper body... I mean, who needs good dialogue when you have nice titties in a tank?!

“Are you looking at my tits?!”

I’d #HATES to be so harsh on this film because it is at least bearable enough to sit through, but you still might be better off spending your time drinking toilet water. On the other hand, if you do decide to spend some time with House at the End of the Street, please feel free to try to beat my “I called the plot twist!” time of 4 minutes and 50 seconds.