One rarely roots for the bad guys in a home-invasion shocker, but, as the majority of the victims in Neil LaBute’s “Fear the Night” are either insufferably stupid or gratingly snippy, their survival is perhaps not the priority it ought to be.
In any event, most of them will be slaughtered before we can tell them apart in a movie that appears not so much written by LaBute as stapled together from a pile of threadbare thriller tropes. The plot could fit on a pistol barrel (or, in this case, an arrowhead): Eight women descend on a remote farmhouse for a bachelorette party, only to find their stripper-and-sex-toy revelries interrupted by leering louts who favor artisanal over mechanical weaponry. Bloody chaos ensues as the ladies bemoan their inability to sprint in high heels and struggle to memorize a three-count knock signal that differentiates friend from foe.
“What is happening to us?” one distraught partygoer inquires, echoing my bewilderment. Like her cohort, she will turn hopefully — and, in the case of Mia (Gia Crovatin), longingly — to the one guest that no one else seems to like: Tess (a valiant Maggie Q), a super-serious military veteran and recovering addict. Tess has suffered. Tess has seen things. Tess will use her very particular skills to rally these nitwits or die trying.
Pausing mid-murders to allow for a touching reconciliation and a romantic confession (not the time, Mia!), the back-of-napkin script stumbles forward. As for LaBute, a once incisive chronicler of male cruelty and ineptitude, his continued dabblings in genre are lamentable. Perhaps the kindest thing to do is pretend this dud never happened; it certainly worked for the Farrelly brothers’ “Dumb and Dumber To.”
Fear the Night
Not rated. Running time: 1 hour 32 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms.
