Contrary to so many modern cheapie horror films, James Wan’s “Insidious: Chapter 2” shows some creative flourishes. Often, the camera floats like a ghost through the scene, creating the sense of unease one should feel when watching a haunted-house flick like this. Wan doesn’t lean on shock cuts or gore or woozy shaky-cams, either, which lends the film a sense of atmosphere, suspense and deliberate pacing. His often bold color palette also defies more typical monochrome tones.
Despite its assured direction, the sequel to 2011’s “Insidious” insists upon trotting out the hoary clichés of countless scarefests before it: Candlelit seances, the ominous ticking of an antique grandfather clock, doors opening by themselves, haunted videotapes, hysterical strings on the musical score, creepy old baby dolls, toys playing with themselves, flickering basement light bulbs, disembodied voices, things going bumpity in closets, pseudo-demonic possession and that old chestnut, someone…walking…very…slowly…through…a…house…reaching…for…a…doorknob. Are audiences so predictably gullible?
Many people loved “Insidious”; critics said it recalled “The Exorcist” and “Poltergeist.” But “Chapter 2” feels more like lazy Sam Raimi. It’s jokey and silly. The primary haunter is a Victorian woman decked out like she just burgled Helena Bonham-Carter’s boudoir: gothic white dress, pasty pancaked pallor, ashen streaks in her hair. She could be Beetlejuice’s Aunt Mabel. She wanders through the house in broad daylight, lingering in the corners of the frame, sometimes jumping in close all of a sudden, hissing like a gouged tire.
The narrative picks up immediately after the events of the first movie, and the hauntees are the same folk: Josh (Patrick Wilson) and Renai (Rose Byrne) and their three kids have moved in with his mother, Lorraine (Barbara Hershey). It’s been established that young Dalton (Ty Simpkins) can walk between this plane and the spirit world. “Chapter 2” opens with a prologue, flashing back to 1986, when Lorraine called in a pair of psychics to help young Josh, who was being followed by a vindictive spirit. Conveniently, those memories were stricken from his mind via hypnotism.
Now that the family is back in the old house, the creaking and the clunking and the slow doorknob-reaching resumes. Renai tries to protect the children, and Josh begins exhibiting abnormal behavior. Meanwhile, Lorraine tries to get to the bottom of this, and enlists the help of the psychic medium Carl (Steve Coulter) and doofus ghost hunters Specs (Leigh Wannell, also the screenwriter) and Tucker (Angus Sampson), who provide dopey comic relief. The four of them break into an old abandoned hospital, flinging flashlight beams and poking for clues like the Scooby Gang.
The cornball story begs for the change of the franchise name to “Insipid.” It’s sloppy, a pieced-together assemblage of BOO bits that generate more derisive chuckles than chills. Wilson seems to relish the opportunity to go over the top and snack on the scenery as his character loses his gourd. He’s entertaining, but representative of the film’s half-hearted degeneration into camp. Is Wan trying to make us laugh, or scare us? Who knows.