Don’t fret over the title of this loopy horror-
comedy. In a movie full of ruptured realities, alternative timelines, parallel universes and projected nightmares, spoilers are pretty much beside the point.
In other words, if John (Rob Mayes) is ever really dead in “John Dies at the End,” he is also forever alive and talking from the future to his friend Dave (Chase Williamson) via, among other things, a hot dog that functions like a telephone because, well … because.
There’s no easy way to grab onto this peculiarly engaging (if occasionally nauseating) fantasy based on a popular novel by David Wong (the pseudonym of Jason Pargin) and adapted for the screen by director Don Coscarelli. The latter’s 1979 “Phantasm” and its sequels are similarly memorable for leaving a viewer with no clear sense of what is up or down, while his 2002 “Bubba Ho-Tep,” which finds an aging Elvis Presley in a nursing home, justifiably retains a cult following.
If the opening minutes of “John Dies at the End” are frustrating for their incoherent narrative, random grisliness and an abundance of squiggly creatures suggesting warmed-over Cronenberg, the rest of the film eventually finds its own rhythm and meaningful chaos.
- Anonymous donor pays off landslide victim's $360K mortgage
- 'Hero' teacher tackles shooter at North Thurston High School
- Man arrested for carrying golf club sues city, Seattle cop
- Seattle-to-suburb commuters prefer urban lifestyle
- Jernard Jarreau leaving Washington
Most Read Stories
It helps to have recurring scenes in which Dave meets with a bemused journalist (Paul Giamatti) at a Chinese restaurant, explaining how a powerful hallucinogenic drug called Soy Sauce fits with a space invasion of fluttering white creatures, a prophetic Jamaican, a girl (Fabianne Therese) with a prosthetic hand, a rogue detective (Glynn Turman), exploding body parts and hidden dimensions in which slackers Dave and John are treated as heroes.
At some point, a viewer is encouraged to just let go and take the ride. The risk is worth it. The film’s final act achieves its own lilting, through-the-looking-glass thrill in the tension between Coscarelli’s sharp-edged rigorousness and the material’s unhinged, pulpy poetry.
Tom Keogh: email@example.com