A bloodshot title card and the hammering notes of a dread chorale close out a weekend getaway quite literally from Hell.
Before the audience is allowed to escape this cabin in the woods though, Aparato’s gruesome title sequence for Evil Dead — an “homage to gore,” as Director Fede Alvarez calls it — forces them to relive every murderous detail of the proceedings in a ghastly instant replay of sorts. Globules of blood hover in the murk, like the embers of a dying fire; a rivulet of red slinks down a decaying staircase, dripping into a waiting pool of carnage. Soon, the vital fluid begins splattering the walls and floors, the ferocity of Roque Baños’ score increasing to match the foul play. Limbs are hacked, nails pierce muscle and splinter wood, and a smoking chainsaw chews through flesh and bone in an ever more violent summary of Deadite deaths and self-inflicted savagery. Demonic scripture flashes, blood rains, and the screen is consumed by flame.
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