The spoof used to be the bottom-feeder of the cinematic ecosystem, but in the age of IP a new parasitic life-form has emerged: the out-of-copyright grave-robber. Director Jamie Bailey nominally deserves some credit for being first to the punch to make a film featuring big kahuna Mickey Mouse, whose Steamboat Willie iteration entered the public domain at the start of this year. But any admiration quickly evaporates on slogging through this convoluted, sloppy and ultimately meek slasher flick.
The plot is rudimentary enough: amusement arcade wage slave Alex (Sophie McIntosh) and friends are locked into her workplace at her surprise 21st birthday party and picked off by an apparently teleporting killer in a Mickey mask. Chippy goth girl Rebecca (Mackenzie Mills) relates the massacre in flashbacks from inside a jail cell to two sceptical cops, with some Usual Suspects footsie about the identity of the killer – except Bailey seems to forget that he gives that away right at the start.
Not only is the setup needlessly complicated, but the scenes involving the obligatory hookup intrigues of assorted jocks, hotties, potheads and nice guys are so drawn out and incoherent they feel as if they were scripted by Pluto (out of copyright: 2026) after being force-fed a diet of 90s meta-horror. The biggest boo-boo, though, is not bothering – unlike last year’s Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey – to find any witty or salient way to roast this carrion. Maybe trenchant satire of Disney is too much to ask for, or too legally risky, but the only Mickey fun on offer here is a bit of ominous use of that fell, bi-sphere silhouette. It could just as well be a deadmau5 slasher film.
There’s some occasional sass in the dialogue, and Mills does have some presence in the holding role. Otherwise The Mouse Trap is so dispiritingly slapdash that Walt needn’t bother rolling over in his grave; should we be shocked that an era of cynical corporate film-making begets cynicism? Popeye is up for grabs on 1 January 2025, so here’s hoping the next round of desecrators scoff inspirational spinach beforehand.
