Oh, dear reader, brace yourself as I embark on a pilgrimage through the calamitous caverns of the 2019 film, “The Curse of La Llorona,” a movie that audaciously attempted to breathe life into the chilling Mexican folklore of La Llorona, but instead produced a yawn-inducing tale that even the weeping woman herself would shed tears of disappointment over.
First and foremost, we must address the rather tragic metamorphosis of Raymond Cruz from a hardened, street-savvy drug dealer in “Breaking Bad” to a bewildering portrayal of a priest turned shaman in this horrid cinematic faux pas. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Cruz delivers his lines with the grace of a crowbar trying to conduct a symphony, causing many a viewer to stifle giggles during moments that were meant to petrify. Picture this: the once menacing Tuco Salamanca, now sprinkling seeds and mumbling incantations as though he were hastily thrown into a low-budget backyard play with the neighborhood kids. The transition is as graceful as a giraffe on roller skates, leaving audiences both amused and slightly dismayed at this odd career trajectory.
As for the storyline, one could argue that it was constructed by throwing darts at a board filled with overused horror tropes. Oh, look! We hit the “mysterious puddles leading to a ghastly figure” square, followed closely by the “child being dragged into darkness by unseen forces” cliché! One might be tempted to start a betting pool on which overused horror trope will make its appearance next. Spoiler alert: It’s all of them. The original folklore brims with terrifying potential, yet “The Curse of La Llorona” seems to have opted for a Frankenstein’s monster approach, stitching bits and pieces of every conceivable horror movie cliché into a lumbering beast of cringeworthy moments and lost potential.
Now, onto the leading lady, Linda Cardellini, who tries valiantly to carry this film like a marathon runner trying to complete a race with a sprained ankle. Her portrayal of a concerned mother is as convincing as a cardboard cutout with a speaker playing canned expressions of worry and fear. It is not so much Cardellini’s fault, as the script gives her little to work with, forcing her to navigate through scenes with the grace of a sailboat in a hurricane.
Oh, but we mustn’t overlook the children, who seem to have attended the “horror movie children school of ill-advised decisions.” Never before have audiences witnessed such a glorious celebration of every bad decision a child could possibly make when confronted with supernatural forces. From investigating strange noises alone to seemingly forgetting the concept of running away from danger, these children manage to evoke both frustration and incredulity in the most stoic of viewers.
Furthermore, the film’s attempt at creating a haunting atmosphere is about as effective as trying to light a bonfire with a wet matchstick. Each scare is telegraphed from a mile away, with the ominous music swelling as though warning viewers to brace themselves for the impending “shock.” Sadly, the shock wears thin, as the weeping woman’s appearances become as predictable as the sunrise.
“The Curse of La Llorona” serves as a stern warning to filmmakers about the perils of squandering rich folklore in favor of cheap thrills and clichéd plot devices. As viewers, we are left to mourn what could have been a riveting horror tale but instead were served a plate of regurgitated ideas garnished with a side of hammy performances. One can only hope that La Llorona herself, upon witnessing this abomination, would have mercy on us and wash this film away into the annals of forgotten cinema, where it rightly belongs.
And thus, dear reader, if you seek a thrill that combines the excitement of a lukewarm cup of tea with the depth of a puddle, then by all means, dive headfirst into “The Curse of La Llorona.” It’s sure to evoke a cascade of stifled giggles and face-palms, making it a potential frontrunner for any “worst movie night” candidate.