The Host
/
saoirse ronan
max irons
jake abel
Kiss me like you want to get slapped.
~ Wanderer/Wanda
quick fox: F
winding dragon
The Host (2013) redefines my definition of a “terrible film. (My previous worst film was The Last Airbender for desecrating a beloved television show.) I know that “terrible” can be a vague term, so let me put it this way: Watching The Host is like if somebody strapped you to a chair made of sandpaper and rusty nails, and drained all your brain fluids through a needle injected into your skull. In fact, if you want to watch a far superior version of The Host, then watch the episode “Auto Erotic Assimilation” from Rick and Morty because they have the same concept.
Based on a Stephenie Meyer novel, the exposition to The Host is that parasitic aliens called “Souls” have taken over the human race. They create a utopia where everybody tells the truth and obeys orders, making them seemingly incapable of wearing anything except pearly white suits. The problem with this utopia is that the human mind is still in the Soul, trapped behind that consciousness. Melanie Stryder (Saoirse Ronan) fights with her Soul, who calls herself “Wanda,” and forces a dysfunctional symbiotic union. Melanie/Wanda flee into the desert where they find a group of cave-dwelling human rebels whose only form of rebellion appears to be stealing water jugs from the local grocery market named “Store.”
The most depressing thing about The Host is how hard it tries to be a good film. They hired a talented actress in Ronan (though her skills are buried under a tediously-written character) and they tried to make things “exciting” with helicopters, a car chase, and a sting operation. But the real intrigue should have been the identity crisis with Melanie/Wanda as she navigates the meaning of human consciousness. Instead, it turns into an uncomfortable and boring romance as Stryder tries to rekindle a flame with her old boyfriend Jared (Max Irons) while Wanda falls for another cookie-cutter teenager named Ian (Jake Abel). Like I said, this is a Stephanie Meyer novel.
So what could have been a compelling story about existential dread quickly turns into existential boredom. There was an excruciating amount of waiting for something—anything!—to happen and being forced to endure a four-way romance that weren’t be passable in a soap opera. What makes it more awkward is that it seems The Host is trying its best to give the audience claustrophobia, because the majority of the movie is set in a dimly lit, aesthetically displeasing cave. And not even an interesting cave with monsters or a labyrinth of tunnels—no, just a coarse, rough, and irritating sandy hunk of rock.
I can’t express how important it is that you never watch The Host. My suffering should be a cautionary tale to everyone who cares about quality entertainment.