Editor’s Note: This was originally published for FANGORIA on February 2, 2001, and we’re proud to share it as part of The Gingold Files.
Before I go any further, I’d like to follow the dictates of a soon-to-be-issued Warner Bros. press release and point out that Valentine is rated R for its violence and language, and that no one under 17 is to attend without an accompanying parent or adult guardian. Truth be told, though, only someone under 17, and thus unfamiliar with past slasher films and their tropes, is likely to appreciate the movie. Certainly anyone familiar with the genre will not only figure out early on who the mystery killer is, but be able to predict the visual punchline giving away the villain’s identity—and note that said moment has been lifted wholesale from the far superior 1982 movie Alone in the Dark.
Valentine, its creators say, is supposed to tie its terrors in with the scary state of dating today. What that translates to on screen is a bunch of one-dimensional male jerks and creeps who seem to be the only men available to attractive, successful and/or wealthy Kate (Marley Shelton), Paige (Denise Richards), Dorothy (Jessica Capshaw) and Lily (Jessica Cauffiel). As usual in the stalker genre, the four have a secret from their past that has led to the present-day rampage, in this case their mistreatment of a little kid named Jeremy Melton back in junior high. Now, threatening Valentine’s Day cards signed “J.M.” have been arriving at their doors and someone has bumped off another of their friends in a different city. Being smarter than the usual would-be victims, our heroines make the connection, which occasions a bit of soul-searching on the part of Dorothy, the one most responsible for Jeremy’s humiliation.
That’s all there is to distinguish Valentine from its countless predecessors, and soon this angle is abandoned in favor of the usual close calls, shower scenes (calm down, guys—this is one of those films where everyone wraps themselves in towels before stepping out of the shower), obvious red herrings and people suddenly bumping into our heroines (“Oh my God, you scared me!”). Director Jamie Blanks, who had much cleverer material to work with on Urban Legend, tries hard to bring some zip to the murder setpieces, but the screenplay is so underwritten (or perhaps overwritten—four scripters are credited) that he’s hard-pressed to bring much in the way of emotional investment to any of the demises. He brought a slicker look to Legend, too; Valentine’s cinematography (by the usually reliable Rick Bota) is drab and murky. The murders themselves seem truncated, and the makeup FX we do see are pretty shoddy, with only some mottled corpses in a morgue scene suggesting the contribution of KNB, credited with additional FX.
Oh yes, and Angel’s David Boreanaz makes his big-screen debut as Adam, Kate’s boyfriend who’s got a problem with drinking and making himself scarce just before anybody gets offed. To his credit, he creates a believable if sketchy character and sets himself apart from his TV persona, suggesting he’s got a real movie career ahead of him if he can find his way into better material. His presence also leads to one of the script’s few stabs at wit, as Kate says of her suspicious beau, “He’s no angel, but he isn’t a murderer!” It may be an easy laugh, but in a film like Valentine, you take your pleasures where you can.
