film | Sacrificial ham

Since Nicolas Cage certainly won't be winning the Oscar for his panicked perspiring in the howlingly ridiculous THE WICKER MAN, let's all chip in to buy him a shirt that reads: I Went to a Scary Feminist Habitat Off the Coast of Washington State, and All I Got Was Burned Alive in a Giant Totem to Please the Harvest Gods. Oh yeah, Neil Labute's remake of the 1973 British shocker is one of those movies: totally botched from beginning to end, yet somehow oblivious to its awesome badness, and very nearly modest entertainment as a result.

Cage plays a California cop summoned by an ex-girlfriend (Kate Beahan) to investigate the perplexing disappearance of her daughter on a spooky island commune in the pacific northwest, but its residents — a hive-like matriarchy of beekeepers who refer to each other as Sister So-and-So and keep their scanty male population in check as emasculated, mute drones — fail to welcome him or his sleuthing with open arms. Right off the bat, you'll note that these ladies are sinister, bonkers and smugly involved in some sort of secret plot, but it takes Cage — a freakin' policeman — far too long to figure this much out and ask the one question of Beahan that should've been on his mind the second he heard from her. Don't carp, though, because the frequent lapses in logic and the somber seriousness of their staging actually turn The Wicker Man into high camp.

Enjoy, then, a few of my favorite Wicker snickers: A) how the womenfolk speak in ridiculously ominous declarations that make them sound like extras at the Renaissance Festival ("Enjoy the night, only make sure you're ready for the day of tomorrow — the time of death and rebirth"); B) when a frenzied Cage pulls a gun on a cycling schoolmarm (Deadwood's Molly Parker) with a stone-faced "Step away from the bike!", then beats the shit outta all 115 lbs. of Leelee Sobieski (The Glass House) as an aggressive harpy; C) how the village's earth-mother queen (i can't believe it's Ellen Burstyn!) leads a ritualistic celebration by traipsing through a sun-dappled meadow in Braveheart face paint like she's in the world's wonkiest Zoloft commercial; and D) when Cage evades his adversaries in the jaw-dropping climax by slipping into a bear costume, and later, when apprehended, pleads for his life by roaring, "Killing me won't bring back your goddamn honey!" (See, the gals believe ... oh, nevermind.)

So how do I rate a movie that's a complete failure at being the enigmatic occult thriller it thinks it is, yet finds deliriously enjoyable footing as an accidental comedy? Beats me, but this might be the first truly terrible film that I can't wait to re-watch with friends. I think I'll just find the alphabetical mean of the the best and worst letter grades. Hey, it's a formula that's at least slightly more rational than The Wicker Man. C