A whimsical then wicked pencil-doodled introduction sets the grim fairytale tone in the right way and we’re ready to get ridiculous… yet it’s all downhill from that inventive opening. Writer-director Rhys Frake-Waterfield’s Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey is the next rickety float in a parade of low-budget horror movies getting our hopes up with insane titles that spark initial intrigue but can’t deliver. There’s no honor standing next to such examples as The Mean One or Ahockalypse, which adapted The Grinch and a Goon-style hockey story, respectively, to weak and largely unfunny horror comedies. When it comes to mutilating the beloved children’s book character into a slasher, Blood and Honey is a failure across the board, not only in its writing and acting but also from cinematography to editing, except for a few gnarly character deaths.
In Frake-Waterfield’s macabre reinvention of A.A. Milne’s beloved Winnie the Pooh children’s stories, doom and gloom is a theme that starts on the right foot. Christopher Robin still exists, Winnie the Pooh’s crew still inhabits the 100 Acre Wood, but everything goes south when Christopher leaves for college – a smart play on Pooh seeing Christopher’s maturation as abandonment and creating a vengeful motive for his Jason Voorhees-style murder spree. It’s an origin story that sparks initial intrigue… but that fades quickly as execution flounders.
Yes, the kills are approvably vicious, and they’re just about the only thing that makes this movie remotely watchable. Frake-Waterfield doesn’t skimp on practically driven gore when possible, as this Scooby-Doo villain-style version of Pooh (Craig David Dowsett) and Piglet (Chris Cordell) use everything from his silly-looking human hands clenched like paws to a good old-fashioned woodchipper to inflict punishment on five girls staying at a vacation home near their treehouse-junkyard habitat. The body count mounts, skulls are cracked open like piñatas, and we’re treated to a buffet of warped bedtime brutality.
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Everything else? Stickier than Pooh’s favorite snack.
Blood and Honey feels amateurish, from editing that haphazardly slaps scenes together without continuity awareness to flat-out ugly cinematography. Pooh’s first chase sequence makes even the worst found-footage “shaky cam” experience seem steady in comparison. Blinding floodlights in pitch-black darkness are misused, creating weird shadows, and transitions between events feel out of sequence, displaying zero spatial awareness. Continuity and composure are not this film’s friends.
Focusing on Pooh and Piglet, their character design loses its gimmick points rather quickly. The only animal attributes are rubbery full-face masks that show no fur, visible human mouths, and minimal expressions. It’s a cop-out workaround even by low-budget horror standards, not even attempting to sharpen Pooh’s claws or do anything more convincing than unemotive latex molds. We’ve seen the trailer, so there’s no barebones shock value to seeing a cuddly bear and his friends mutated into murderers. Visual effects (to use the term charitably) simply underwhelm as last-minute trick ‘r treat costumes try to pass as terrifying crossbreed killers. The same goes for lesser digital effects that spew animated red chunks, which naturally don’t look nearly as good as the practical guts.
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Blood and Honey’s biggest problems appear to have cropped up right after the ridiculous concept phase, as early as the scripting process. Rhys Frake-Waterfield writes in unnecessary dramatic subplots like lead character Maria’s (Maria Taylor) traumatic memories and glosses over backstory for abilities introduced halfway into Pooh and Piglet’s spree. Performances are nowhere near developed or expressive enough to save these dull exposition dumps that mostly lead nowhere, especially those delivered by over-acted worrywart Jess (Natasha Rose Mills). Nobody seems comfortable in their positions – actors underselling reactions, photographers blurring the frame, directors mixing tones like oil and vinegar – and the resulting movie is soured well beyond any sweet goodwill Pooh’s honey-dripping scowl allows.