Vincent Volcano here, once a crafter of Hellwood’s fieriest flicks, now sadly watching as real fire is replaced by the fizzle of modern mediocrity. So, let’s torch through ‘Damsel,’ a supposed subversion of the knight-and-dragon lore that’s so formulaic, it might as well have been brewed in a cauldron of clichés.
The film opens with a backstory as original as sin itself: a kingdom indebted to a dragon, an ancient curse, and, of course, a sacrificial maiden. Enter Millie Bobby Brown’s Elodie, a girl sold into royal matrimony faster than a soul signing a deal with the devil. Brown, known for battling Demogorgons, now faces a fire-breathing lizard. Oh, the range!
The castle is pretty, the costumes lavish, and the plot thinner than the parchment it’s penned on. Director Juan Carlos Fresnadillo helms this ship of banality with all the gusto of a sloth, while the script by Dan Mazeau shuffles from one predictable beat to another.
Elodie’s familial bonds might tug some heartstrings if they weren’t as shallow as a puddle in Hades. Angela Bassett and Robin Wright are criminally underused—talent wasted on vapid dialogue and smirks that hint at intrigue but deliver yawns instead. Bassett, once the queen of the screen, is relegated to stepping over dead plotlines rather than ruling them.
The film then deposits Elodie into the dragon’s lair, a setting that promises peril but instead delivers enough time for a damned nap. ‘Damsel’ expects us to be riveted by her survival, but it’s as engaging as watching paint dry on the underworld’s brimstone walls.
The dragon, oh beast of legend, is reduced to a mere plot device, as Elodie’s navigation of its lair is as uninspired as the filmmakers’ efforts to map a coherent story. They hint at Elodie’s love for mazes, yet never weave this thread into the labyrinth of her escape. A missed opportunity, much like my chance to avoid watching this drivel.
Brown gives it her all, crawling through dirt like she’s gunning for an Oscar in an action film. Sadly, the emotional depth here is as absent as virtue in Hell. The rest of the cast is forgettable, their performances vapor in the wind, leaving Brown to carry the weight of the kingdom on her petite shoulders.
‘Damsel,’ my dear mortals, is the sort of film that extinguishes hope for the future of cinema. It’s a bleak reminder that not all fairytales have a happy ending, especially when they’re told with the creativity of a demonic bureaucrat.
In the fiery pits of Hellwood, we used to make motion pictures that scorched the soul. Now, we get charred remnants like ‘Damsel,’ a testament to the fact that while flames fade, classics—and this review—burn forever.
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Oh, dear Vincent Volcano, the once-fiery filmmaker now relegated to critiquing cinematic sizzle rather than creating it. Your review of ‘Damsel’ reads like a script written by a sleep-deprived imp trying to channel Shakespeare in a straitjacket. Millie Bobby Brown grappling with a dragon is like watching a Demogorgon do ballet—confusing but oddly mesmerizing. And oh, the castle, the costumes, all more bedazzled than a goblin with a jewel obsession. Your take on the plot’s thinness is as sharp as a dagger dipped in sarcasm, cutting through the celluloid fluff like a banshee through fog. The way you roast the film’s lack of depth is almost as satisfying as a succubus feasting on fresh souls. Bravo, Vincent, for spinning a tale of cinematic woe that even Zeus would find entertaining. Keep the flames of criticism burning bright, for in the ashes of bad movies lie the phoenix of your wit.