Rating: 3/10

Writer: J.S. Cardone, Donald E. Westlake (earlier screenplay)
Director: Nelson McCormick
Cast: Dylan Walsh, Sela Ward, Penn Badgley, Amber Heard
Studio: Screen Gems

It would be insulting to art supplies for the younger set to call THE STEPFATHER “paint by numbers.” It’s a thriller with no thrills, a horror joint with no horror, and has a lack of gore that will keep SAW-sated audiences yawning. Instead of reminding the audience of its predecessor, the 1987 version, this newest version feels oddly like watered-down version of another recent remake, REAR WINDOW knock-off and Shia LaBeouf-starrer DISTURBIA. But whereas DISTURBIA actually sought to build tension and doubt, THE STEPFATHER gives us just about everything we need to know within minutes.

We open on a seemingly normal suburban street on Salt Lake City. A paper boy drives down it, only pausing to not throw a paper at a house that has, shockingly enough, canceled their subscription. Horror of horrors! A family of illiterates that don’t care about the news of the world! Oh, wait, that’s not the horror. Dylan Walsh ambles on screen and, while he may not care about reading, he does care about personal appearance – he’s altering it! Oh, why? Because he’s killed his entire step-family. Spoilers? Please. This is a film without twists, and the entire opening sequence tells us everything we’d ever need to know about Walsh’s character.

After breaking from SLC, Walsh ends up in Portland and, seemingly within minutes, has picked up Sela Ward’s Susan Harding, a divorcee with three kids. Soon, it’s six months later and Susan and “David” (his assumed name du jour) are engaged, and Susan’s oldest, Michael (Penn Badgley), is home from military school to “complete” the family. Michael’s appearance lends to David’s ability to chatter at length about the importance of family, which we can only assume is meant to be his motivation for what he does – seek out broken families, try to fix them, and then just end up murdering them when it doesn’t work out. I say “assume,” because David is written so weakly that we can only make assumptions and cast back to the original plot of the first STEPFATHER. Walsh pulls off creepy well enough, though, so there’s that.

Young Michael (predictably) doesn’t take too well to David. It’s not like he’s just being true to his real father (whom he apparently can’t stand), but Michael seems to be the only one to notice David’s inherent creepiness (beyond his Aunt Jackie, who seems to want to conduct her investigations into David’s identity only via technology – bad choice, sweetheart). David loves to pop out of places and stand around looking weird. He doesn’t like having his picture taken. He only pays cash. And, for someone we’re supposed to believe is a cold-blooded killer, he’s terrible about keeping on top of his lies. He slips up time and time again.

Despite the indication that the cops in Salt Lake City are on to him, and beyond an appearance on “America’s Most Wanted,” there is never any discussion about the fuzz cracking down on him. The only person who seems to find him off-putting at all is Michael, even his own girlfriend (Amber Heard) isn’t on his side, and his mother is so desperate for someone to love that David could have shown up in a Scream mask, and she’d still be all about it. Michael’s attempts to dig into David’s past are weak (at best), and the crux of his belief in David’s killer-hood seems steeped in a cache result on their computer. Because of all of this, THE STEPFATHER is stunningly devoid of tension. While no one else knows who they are dealing with, we do, and when the cues start coming down (canceled newspaper, beard clippers), the only thought is, “jeez, well, finally!”

The film only livens up in its last fifteen or so minutes. David finally goes nutty, Michael’s beliefs are finally proven true, there’s a lot of yelling and poor choices in running away. It’s all standard horror film cliches. But even the most intense moments are short-lived, and THE STEPFATHER wraps up in the most innoucous, expected way possible.