In order to appreciate The Ruins, one has to be a die-hard fan of horror or bloody thrillers. Those in that category will discover that The Ruins delivers the goods.
In order to appreciate The Ruins, one has to be a die-hard fan of horror or bloody thrillers. Those in that category will discover that The Ruins delivers the goods.
Smith has changed a few plot points around to keep readers who already know the secret of the ruins guessing, and to some extent the strategy works. There was, however, no reason whatsoever to change the book's perfect endings.
The characters never evolve past mere functionality, and the adherence to certain tried-and-true horror tropes -- the good girl who doesn't want to go but does, the generic naughty kids who get it first -- feels workmanlike, robbing the story of any real suspense or surprise.
The characters never evolve past mere functionality, and the adherence to certain tried-and-true horror tropes -- the good girl who doesn't want to go but does, the generic naughty kids who get it first -- feels workmanlike, robbing the story of any real suspense or surprise.
The Ruins is lumpish, static, and obvious. It's a gringos-go-home cautionary fright flick done in the spirit of a cheap '50s horror movie, except that it leaves you longing for the competence of grade-Z studio-system trash.
The Ruins is lumpish, static, and obvious. It's a gringos-go-home cautionary fright flick done in the spirit of a cheap '50s horror movie, except that it leaves you longing for the competence of grade-Z studio-system trash.
Ultimately less dependent on suspense or even scares than on squirm-inducing grossouts, this tale of Yank hardbodies vs. carnivorous creepers should flower briefly in hardtops, then spread like an invasive weed in ancillary.
