HJHOP Movie Review: Death of a Ghost Hunter, or F*cking Foley, How Does That Work?

It is hard to believe that the $5 I spent renting this movie equaled .1% of the box office gross of this stinker ($3490). I would guessed that it would have been closer to 30% of the box office take.

So, this money pit starred...nobody, really. It was like having lemon juice poured into my eyes. The entire score consisted of two notes, bing and bong. Something would be about to happen and you'd hear it, "bing.......bong....bing......bong." Of course, sometimes nothing would happen and you'd hear the bing bonging and just wishing that it would go away. Of course, it seems that, given the budget, the filmmakers could only afford the two notes.

The story revolves around a woman who was offered $1510 more than this movie grossed to spend three nights investigating a haunted house where freaky sex Christians tortured girls and got themselves murdered and suicided. She is joined by a journalist, a camera guy, and a psycho Christian who was apparently raised at the bottom of a plot hole. They are all murdered. Oh, yeah. Spoiler alert about that.

Patti Tindall, of "Folic Acid Awareness" commercial campaign, is Carter Somethingorother. She is a ghost hunter who contracts a case of death and is trapped in the house for eternity. Oh, spoiler alert about that too. The acting, across the board, was nightmarish. Seriously, the guys on the Dutch Masters box are more animated. Dame Edna puts on a more convincing performance. The controlling metaphor is a woman peeing into a suitcase, where the woman represents the filmmakers and the suitcase is the audience.

As far as I could tell, the sound was edited by two people. One of them was Superman and could hear a bumblebee fart on the other side of Central Park at rush hour. The other was an elderly gentleman who spent 40 years testing safe decibel levels for jet engines. Seriously, in the same conversation one character could not be heard while the other was tearing my speakers.

The movie seems to be the fault of Mike Marsh and Sean Tretta, who for some reason took direct responsibility for just about everything that happened on that screen. Seriously, I feel the need to wash the front of my TV set now, that was so painful.

HJ