The remake of Flatliners is dead on arrival. Put it in a body bag, Johnny! It's stiffer than rigor mortis. It wears its toe tag like a blue ribbon, but you'll know it's nothing but cadaverous rot the minute you hit "play."
Say what you will about the 1990 original; at least it had a sleekly stylish look - thanks to cinematographer Jan de Bont - and it kept you interested. The new Flatliners doesn't have a memorable shot in it, and it's fucking-your-two-year-old-sex-doll boring. For the record, that's the sex doll you've had for two years, not a sex doll shaped like a toddler. You sick fucks.
In an effort to pay reparations for the perceived PC sins of its past, this Flatliners violates the First Law of Cinema: be entertaining. The original's bukake-math casting of four dudes and one chick has been gender bent into a 3:2 pussy-to-penis ratio. A similar racial reckoning subs in one African American and one Hispanic to the 1990's David Duke-approved all-White ensemble.
That would be outstanding news if Flatliners was an affirmative action filmstrip, but as it's a feature film and the end result of all the PC fuckassery is a shittier flick than the original, everyone involved can go die. For reals, yo.
In an attempt to "scientifically" determine if there's an afterlife, the United Medical Students of Benetton - Ellen "Turn The" Page, Nina "99 Red Balloons" Dobrev, Diego "La" Luna, Kiersey "Samuel" Clemons and James "Antivirus" Norton - each has his or her heart stopped for a couple of minutes before being resuscitated. Well, all except Luna's character, because he's too smart. Or scared. Or religious. Or just a little bitch.
Flatliners doesn't give a fuck about the afterlife or anything else, including following its own rules. After each of these left-side-of-the-bell-curve future docs flatlines, they get "haunted" by "ghosts" from their past; only some of the ghosts are of dead people and some are of living ones. And sometimes the ghosts/hallucinations/fuckrendous screenwriting choices can drag their victims around or stab them through the hand Jesus-style, and sometimes they can’t.
The only way the flatliners can save themselves is to forgive themselves. Or to get the people they’ve killed or otherwise wronged to forgive them. Or to take responsibility for their actions. Or to just say “sorry” and leave it at that. There are no rules, so there are no stakes. Other than mistakes.
Flatliners deserves a closed casket.
February 2, 2018 Video release review rather than theatrical release review because beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.