In order to be minimally watchable, a movie has to have something to express, some theme or point, and then traverse the process of expressing it from beginning through middle to end.
THE BEACH HOUSE, as far as I am intelligent enough to tell, didn't have ANY of those elements. Consequently, and of course inevitably, this results in a movie that somnambulates around for about eighty-eight minutes and then just falls over, plop. The end.
The final scene depicts our female lead, arguably the primary protagonist of the movie, lying on her back on the beach, her milky white unseeing eyes (traditionally de rigueur to indicate everything from some sort of terminal infection ranging from alien parasites to zombie diseases) staring skyward, incessantly repeating to herself, "Don't be scared. Don't be scared. Don't be scared" until a wave that wouldn't move a toddler somehow magically washes a full-size human female away leaving not a trace in the sand.
Don't worry, dear. I'm not scared. Just bored and annoyed.
In a very vague sort of way the movie suggests some kind of malevolent and infectious element bubbling up from underwater smokers resulting in psychedelic trip-inducing blue fog, extra-large predatory parasitic earthworms and a whole beach-full of flesh-colored Portuguese Man-Of-Wars that materialize on the beach practically instantaneously from nowhere, all without even a light sprinkle of explanation. I suppose we are to understand that some sort of a biological catastrophe has occurred but it's not really made clear. Or even semi-opaque. It could all just as easily be metaphor, analog, symbolism or an attempt at "pathetic fallacy" or blah blah blah. In a drifting and directionless movie such as this, who can tell? Not me.
In the hopes that you won't notice a storyless story, lots of human interest-y, angst-driven manure is cast about to fog the issue. Because drama. The older wife is terminally ill, the older husband already grieves his imminent loss, the bright-eyed ingénue dreams of her bright and unexplored future while her boyfriend drifts haplessly through life yearning for a purpose.
Sn0000000re... snort... Hah?
Unfortunately, no amount of fine accoutrement will conceal the fact that there is no food on the table. There's no story here. It's barely a tableau that starts, goes and ends nowhere.
And just to annoy the audience, our ingénue successfully arranges for portable, breathable air (to avoid the infectious fog...) and transportation and begins to make good her escape from the infected zone and then... And THEN... stupidly out-drives her ability to see through the fog and runs into a tree. Derp.
"Don't be scared", splash splash, roll credits, be irritated and feel cheated.
THE BEACH HOUSE, as far as I am intelligent enough to tell, didn't have ANY of those elements. Consequently, and of course inevitably, this results in a movie that somnambulates around for about eighty-eight minutes and then just falls over, plop. The end.
The final scene depicts our female lead, arguably the primary protagonist of the movie, lying on her back on the beach, her milky white unseeing eyes (traditionally de rigueur to indicate everything from some sort of terminal infection ranging from alien parasites to zombie diseases) staring skyward, incessantly repeating to herself, "Don't be scared. Don't be scared. Don't be scared" until a wave that wouldn't move a toddler somehow magically washes a full-size human female away leaving not a trace in the sand.
Don't worry, dear. I'm not scared. Just bored and annoyed.
In a very vague sort of way the movie suggests some kind of malevolent and infectious element bubbling up from underwater smokers resulting in psychedelic trip-inducing blue fog, extra-large predatory parasitic earthworms and a whole beach-full of flesh-colored Portuguese Man-Of-Wars that materialize on the beach practically instantaneously from nowhere, all without even a light sprinkle of explanation. I suppose we are to understand that some sort of a biological catastrophe has occurred but it's not really made clear. Or even semi-opaque. It could all just as easily be metaphor, analog, symbolism or an attempt at "pathetic fallacy" or blah blah blah. In a drifting and directionless movie such as this, who can tell? Not me.
In the hopes that you won't notice a storyless story, lots of human interest-y, angst-driven manure is cast about to fog the issue. Because drama. The older wife is terminally ill, the older husband already grieves his imminent loss, the bright-eyed ingénue dreams of her bright and unexplored future while her boyfriend drifts haplessly through life yearning for a purpose.
Sn0000000re... snort... Hah?
Unfortunately, no amount of fine accoutrement will conceal the fact that there is no food on the table. There's no story here. It's barely a tableau that starts, goes and ends nowhere.
And just to annoy the audience, our ingénue successfully arranges for portable, breathable air (to avoid the infectious fog...) and transportation and begins to make good her escape from the infected zone and then... And THEN... stupidly out-drives her ability to see through the fog and runs into a tree. Derp.
"Don't be scared", splash splash, roll credits, be irritated and feel cheated.