In which Bwog freelancer Ashley Nin describes a flick that thrills in spite of itself.

jDavid Beckham’s jersey number is 23.

According to the Mayans, the apocalypse is predicted for the year 2012. 20+1+2=23.

Pink is a combination of Red and White, and if you add up their letters (for example, R is the 18th letter in the alphabet), then you get 92. Divide that by the number of letters in ‘pink’ and you get 23.

My birthday is September 1st, 1987. 9+1+1+9+8+7=35. However, 35-35+23=23!

When I first saw the trailer for The Number 23, I figured that it would be another cookie cutter slasher film, relying solely on its outrageous premise to keep audiences from nodding off half way through. And since the basis for this film was so pathetically contrived, I accepted my free ticket as a pass to two hours of hilariously bad cinema. Instead, I left the theater disppointed, not because the film sucked, but rather because I actually enjoyed it.

The cinematography as a whole was breathtaking and adds evidence to my conviction that Director Joel Schumacher is no one-trick pony. The abundant visual effects in worked where they showed up, and even the acting better than your typical horror flick. My one criticism is that it was not enough to redeem the terrible premise from which the entire movie was derived. Is the audience really meant to be convinced that 23 is the number of obsession? In any case, I can’t wait until the sequel, in which a guy goes insane because the number 23 is avoiding him. “I met you when I was 37 and your birthday is the 16 of December… none of it adds up!”

Find theaters and showtimes here.