We gave it a B
The dog, a black husky, has dirty matted hair and eyes that glow like cherry-red Jolly Rancher candies. Your basic rabid devil dog, in other words. But then it opens its mouth, and — how can I put this tastefully? Frankly, I can’t — it projectile-vomits a swarm of wriggly live maggots, which proceed to rain all over a dance floor of writhing young partiers. All together now: Eeewwww!
Bones, the creepy-crawly new horror movie starring Snoop Dogg as a ’70s ghetto crime stud who comes back as a bad-mutha ghost, may be pure trash, but it’s trash made with the kind of oozy psychedelic zest that powered a movie like ”A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors.” A knife goes into a barroom pool table, and blood gushes up from the sliced felt. Characters get tossed into hell, a squirmy entablature of writhing bodies coated in dark slime that looks disgusting enough to be — well, hell. A condemned brownstone gets turned into a hip-hop dance club, which turns into a fun-house frightmare. The director, Ernest Dickerson, fuses blaxploitation iconography with expertly paced F/X rip-offs of ”The Mummy Returns,” the ”Elm Street” series, ”The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” and Satan only knows what else.
Snoop Dogg looks arrestingly snaky in his leather pimp duds, and though the notion that former underworld player Jimmy Bones, a kind of super-duper-fly Freddy Krueger, was once the savior of his neighborhood is laughable, Snoop invests snarling meanness with as much authority as Clint Eastwood used to. As an actor, does this Dogg know any more tricks? At this point, he may not have to.