The Midnight Horror: 'The Resort' (2021)

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I must confess, I have no idea what compelled me to hit play on The Resort. Perhaps I was daydreaming of a different cinematic experience, because whatever I expected, it certainly wasn’t this. In the realm of Vertical releases, one can either strike gold or be left with fool's gold, and this, my friends, was definitely the latter. While my impulse is to wrap this up as a lost cause and toss it aside, duty calls for today's horror feature. So, let’s venture into this murky pool of mediocrity.

Directed by Taylor Chen, The Resort follows four friends—Lex, Chris, Sam, and Bree—portrayed by Bianca Haase, Brock O'Hurn, Michael Vlamis, and Michelle Randolph—as they venture to Hawaii, lured by the chilling tales of a haunting at an abandoned resort. They’re on a quest to uncover the infamous Half-Faced Girl, but as they soon discover, sometimes it’s best to leave the ghosts of the past alone. That’s the crux of this scant 75-minute flick.

In an interesting twist, hip-hop artist Quavo produced this film—perhaps an attempt to cross seeds of superstardom with screen terror. The music, however, didn’t quite resonate; maybe he was too busy making beats to have a hand in the score. Either way, the aural experience left much to be desired, with credits going to John "Fingazz" Stary, who I can only hope found a more entertaining outlet.

From the directing to the script, the acting, and the editing, every moment felt like a haunting chore. The singular ray of light in this murky film was Michelle Randolph, who, despite being shackled by cringeworthy dialogue, managed to shine amidst the rubble. The direction and cinematography reek of a bygone era, akin to a failed pilot from the 90s—complete with all the tired clichés you can imagine and a distinct lack of authentic filmmaking experience. The characters? Let’s just say they’re more insufferable than a chatty neighbor at a dinner party; your empathy is nowhere to be found.

Surprisingly, even with a runtime as short as this, it felt interminable. The tension built at a snail's pace until—ah, finally—a scene that evoked chills with its practical makeup, plucked straight out of Clive Barker’s playbook. It was a haunting display, no doubt, but entirely unoriginal. It’s almost poetic, really—a classic case of “too little, too late.” By the time the horrors unfolded, I had mentally checked out, my investment in the film utterly lost.

Overall, The Resort was a shamelessly squandered hour and fifteen minutes of my life—an experience so lackluster that I cannot, in good conscience, recommend it. Save your time, your sanity, and your love for horror; steer clear of this cinematic ghost story. ╌★✰✰✰✰

〜B.J. Burgess