Sorority Row

ANY FILM THAT can put a shotgun in the hands of an angry Carrie Fisher and fail to generate any significant camp energy really does not belong in cinemas. Sorority Row(the title describes an address, not an argument) turns out to be stranded in quite a few unappealing limbos.

Beginning with a reasonably impressive quasi-accidental calamity – it’s the best thing in the film, so we’ll say no more – this college-girls-in-peril horror flick is not quite post-feminist snark and not quite full-on boobs-out exploitation. It won’t work with ironists and it certainly won’t work with uncomplicated gorehounds. You wonder why they bothered.

Following that opening misfortune, the girls in a snooty sorority house take a deep breath and try to think only of the future. Unhappily for all concerned, some kind of maniac in a hood has decided to chop them up before they encounter the real world.

The action sequences are incoherent, there is no noticeable rationing of tension and the monster's USP is boring beyond belief. It looks as if the makers of Sorority Rowhope that a killer wielding a modified car-jack- spikes and such might generate the next blood-drenched franchise. Good luck with that, chaps.