This is going to drop my average rating score like a stone, but I can't let this one sit here without a review any longer.

MAN! The urge to compare really freaking bad horror movies of late to HATCHET is just overwhelming, but this one takes the cake.

Toolbox McDouche Supreme and his only slightly less annoyingly stereotypical compatriots find themselves lost in the middle of Mexico somewhere while scouting locations for their own little amateur porn shoot. As soon as their camera starts to roll, the girl without the horrific boob job runs six or seven hundred yards into a field to vomit and finds herself face to face with a diabolical dolly shot. Then the perpetually stoned surfer-tard gets attacked by a hand. It’s all just build up for the big reveal of the diabolical "El Masko" or some crap, and honestly, I laughed out loud.

The sad thing is that at least one of the performances (Jeremy Radin as "the fat guy who knows a lot about the subject at hand for no apparent reason") I thought was actually really good, and the woman (Margaret Scarborough) with the tragic breast enhancement that I referred to earlier? I’ve actually seen her in something else and thought she was the lone shining aspect of that film. (I feel as though I should point out here that my feelings towards breast enhancement are violently negative, and my attacking of the procedure is the stuff of legend. The "tragedy" of Ms. Scarborough’s enhancement lies not in her, but the procedure itself and the fact that perfectly lovely women like her find it necessary to mutilate their bodies in an attempt to gain popularity. I find it a sad commentary on our society. But more on that some other time.)

The plot holes in this pile of feces were so freaking huge it was all I could do to actually sit through the whole flick, but I’ve only ever walked out of one movie in my whole life, and feel that unless someone invests the time in seeing the whole picture, they have no right to say whether or not it’s worth seeing. Sometimes a film can pull itself together in the third act. Well, the third act in this one involves the sole female survivor, who was previously rather ham-fistedly referred to as a "contortionist", sitting underneath a table while hiding from "Maskadorkchop". But is she coiled up in a tight ball in a effort to be as out of sight as possible? Hells no! She’s, get this, slouching backwards, pulling her legs apart as far as she can in an effort to gog-knows-what (I’m thinking it’s to show the world her pancreas), with her skimpy little cut offs stopping just short of revealing to us whether or not she’s from Brazil, if you know what I mean. Oh, and of course she’s pointing her junk right at the camera. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the moment that the unthinkable happened...

I finally found a horror movie that was more lame, more annoying, and more frustratingly awful in execution than the abortion called "Hatchet". But I still have to give Hatchet lower honors because "Wrestlemaniac" never once claimed to be the savior of American horror.

She goes on to lose what little shorts she was wearing by getting them caught on a van somehow. Not in the door or on a loose bolt or something, oh no. She slides out of the driver’s seat and they get caught on... who knows? So she shimmies her butt a little and Hulk’s her way right out of her denim restraint. And honestly, I don’t think they could have put in any more shots of this girls ass for no reason than they did. If they had, that’s all of her you would have ever seen. Seriously, every other shot of her is of her stupid butt. Apparently as viewers we’re supposed to be thankful for this. Correct me if I’m wrong, but there are women out there who watch horror films too, right? You would never know it by watching this film or its retarded cousin (yeah, I’m talking about "Hatchet" again).

I really, really wanted to like this movie. Really, I did. But I simply cannot condone this kind of lackluster, unimaginative movie making. It’s films like these that give those who don’t appreciate the horror genre the ammunition they need to tear our beloved art form apart. Self-styled "auteurs" such as this sewage’s Jesse Baget and "Hatchet"s Adam Green owe it to the world of cinematic horror to either cease and desist what they are doing immediately, or really take a long and hard look at what they’re crapping out and ask themselves if it truly stands up to the films they are trying to emulate. I can totally appreciate the whole "labor of love" aspect of making your own films your own way and seeing something you created on your own come to life, but crap is crap and nothing can change that. FTG!