Why review a movie so long after its theatrical debut and home video release? Because Devlin Satanfingers hand delivers every review he writes, in person to the Optimism Vaccine office. Only problem is that Devlin lives 319 miles away from the office, doesn’t own a car, money, bicycle, or a calendar. Sometimes his articles aren’t exactly timely. Sit back and enjoy this never-before-seen October 2012 review of Paranormal Activity 4 from the “Satanfingers unreleased movie film review vault archive”.
The Optimism Vaccine staff was generous enough to give me a fanny pack full of nickels, and send me off to the pictures to review the new ghostly thriller Paranormal Activity 4. They said, “Oh, it’ll be so scary. All these people on the internet said it’d be sooooo scary, so it’ll be sooooo scary.”
I was not scared.
But, don’t worry; I do not fault the general public for believing otherwise.
It’s just that when I was a tween, my father would crawl around the house on his hands and knees each night once mother had extinguished the lights. We were an aristocratic family, so naturally, we had no doors. I could hear father scurry from room to room. When the house was silent, I would stare maniacally into the darkness, wondering when he was planning to strike. Then, the scurrying would start up again, on a distant enough side of the house that I could drift off to sleep in nervous apprehension.
But father could never stop there, oh no. Sometimes he would scurry out the front door, and go down the road to find transients from beneath the underpass to bring back home. He would set the transients loose in the walls, and instruct them to scream until their throats bled if they suspected any sort of life on the other side of the wall. It may sound odd, but I assure you, they were well compensated for their time. Those transients always had a preternatural sense for finding the wall right behind my headboard to unleash their tortured screams. My father would lay in wait for those screams, and then reach up from the base of bed to start shaking the metal frame violently.
He would then release his grip on the bed, and proceed to stretch across the floor and begin openly weeping. The screams in the wall and cries of my father would continue for upwards of forty minutes, and then, as unnecessarily as it had all begun, it would be over. The house would fall silent, and I would slowly peer over the side of my bed, but never once was my father still lying there. He made it a point to always make an exit before the situation could become awkward.
Anyway, I had hoped to review more of the actual movie; however I was ejected from the movie film after around 15 minutes. The theater operator had become annoyed with the noise from my typewriter, as well as with the extension cords running across the film viewing seats to power my floor lamps. I attempted to listen to the rest of the movie film in the parking lot by holding a cup up to the emergency exit door. I believe the plot had a terrible amount to do with holocaustic reindeer, and I’m afraid the ending was a sticky one. Not the type of movie film I’d recommend to your grandparent’s children.