A dim-witted companion piece to Kate Hudson’s voodoo-rific Bayou spookfest The Skeleton Key, Venom piles on the Creole witch doctors, bloody enchantments and rituals, and frazzled white folk without ever straying from the mainstream slasher genre’s long-decayed bylaws. Thus, the first to die at the hands of reincarnated mechanic Ray (Rick Cramer) – who, the Internet Movie Database informs me, is also known as Mr. Jangles (a name never uttered in the film) – are African-Americans (including Method Man!), followed by a couple of bratty sluts (including Bijou Philips!), followed by a bunch of non-descript kids (including Ray’s boorish bastard son!). That the sole survivor turns out to be the chaste, responsible girl planning to go to college will stun absolutely no one, but there is a distinct shock to be had from realizing that such formulaic schlock is the handiwork of producer Kevin Williamson and director Jim Gillespie, whose previous collaboration on the cheesy I Know What You Did Last Summer was light years more accomplished than this swampy mess. Despite its nondescript professional wrestler-sized villain and gaggle of bland, pretty ciphers, Venom, to its credit, effectively captures the sinister, slightly surreal atmosphere of Louisiana’s misty, tree-shrouded backwaters. But in the end, it’s well-nigh impossible to take seriously any horror film that hinges on a plot point involving supernatural snakes absorbing dying criminals’ evil souls via a process known as “milking.”
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