There are plenty of theories about why the number 13 has achieved an unholier-than-thou status over the centuries.  To me, fear of the baker's dozen (a.k.a. triskaidekaphobia) has always been just a silly old superstition, not unlike the existence of the end of a rainbow or a compassionate Conservative.  But now I'm starting to wonder if there isn't something to the whole 13 hoopla, especially when it comes to films.

Even though hotels thoughtfully misnumber their floors so the superstitious won't have to worry about dwelling on an ill-omened story, Hollywood keeps pumping out pictures with the unlucky number in their titles.  And from their performances, both critically and at the box office, you don't need to be a theology major (with a minor in marketing and promotion) to figure out they should just lay off already.  The Thirteenth Floor, The Thirteenth Warrior, Thirteen Days...if you saw, let alone enjoyed, any of the preceding films in a theatre (video doesn't count), raise your hand in shame (and keep it in the air for the duration of this review – it's your punishment).

13 Ghosts is the second recent adaptation of a cheesy William Castle horror film, following the highly unimaginative House on Haunted Hill.  Castle was either one cool dude or a complete sociopath, often applying unique devices to enhance the experience of viewing his otherwise ordinary schlock.  For The Tingler, Castle rigged certain theatre seats to give off a jolt at integral parts of the film, and in his version of Hill, wire-bound skeletons flew over terrified audience members.  His Mr. Sardonicus let the viewers vote on the fate of its main character in what he referred to as a "Punishment Poll" (which, by the way, is entirely different from a Punishment Pole), despite the fact that there was really only one ending.

Castle originally filmed Ghosts in 1960 using something he called "Illusion-O," which gave the film's viewers the option of watching the film with or without seeing the ghosts - probably because there was a whole untapped market for films with the intricate plot detailing of a typical horror film but no actual thrills and/or chills to distract audiences from the Oscar-caliber acting.  On the way into the theatre, you were given a "spectral viewer" that allowed you to see the film's ghosts, but the faint of heart could always watch sans viewer and not have to worry about either seeing ghouls or understanding anything happening on the screen.

It was a cool gimmick for a lame film, but nothing that could easily be duplicated in the 21st century.  Instead, the new version of Ghosts has its characters use the spectral viewers, which, although it's hard to believe, makes it so very much worse than Castle's version.  Ghosts kicks off with a terrifyingly confusing opening (it's the only time the subject matter even vaguely approaches terror) in which a clearly diabolical man named Cyrus (F. Murray Abraham, Finding Forrester) and his psychic assistant, Rafkin (Matthew Lillard, Summer Catch), attempt to capture and enslave a ghost for some reason or another (I was too busy laughing about Abraham and Lillard being in the same film).  But at some point in the mystifying mayhem, Cyrus is killed.

Flash to the dreadful life of math teacher Arthur (Tony Shalhoub, Spy Kids), who has been living in a shabby, cramped apartment with his death-obsessed son (Alec Roberts, Traffic), his piece-of-ass daughter (Shannon Elizabeth, American Pie 2) and their lazy nanny (rapper Rah Digga).  Arthur has been miserable since the death of his wife (Kathryn Anderson), but gets a bit of good news when he finds out his crazy old uncle Cyrus has willed a house to him and his kids.

Everyone loves the house at first, even the perpetually moving walls and doors constructed of heavy glass panels that are soundproof and unbreakable (except for when it's convenient to the plot for them to be otherwise) – but remember, the Lutz family felt the same way about that place in Amityville, too.  It doesn't take long for them all to figure out they're trapped by some kind of otherworldly spirit, and the spectral viewers only confirm their beliefs.  With all manner of gears and pulleys, it seems the house has a mind of its own, but, see, it's really controlled by the dead, slowly releasing a dozen of Cyrus's enslaved spirits from captivity.  And they're a grumpy, bloodthirsty sort, as well.

I don't know what it is about dumb horror films, but they sure seem to be attracting acting talent that really should know better.  It's one thing to raid the roster of the shows on the WB, but when the likes of Abraham, Helen Mirren (Teaching Mrs. Tingle), Geoffrey Rush (The Haunting) and Liam Neeson (House on Haunted Hill) start signing on for this crap, people should take to the streets with pitchforks and torches.  Shalhoub and costar Embeth Davidtz (Bridget Jones's Diary) don't look embarrassed enough, but for some reason, Lillard seems right at home.  

Okay, you can put your hands down now.

1:30 –

for horror violence/gore, nudity and some language