I remember feeling rather shocked to discover that members of thepublic used to identify with the characters in soap operas to such apeculiar degree that they would send them birthday cards or death threats. A member of the cast of 'el dorado' the admittedly awful (but surely not uniquely so) British soap opera was openly beaten in the street for participating in this drama. If only people would attack builders who construct ugly shopping centres, or other public workers who make shoddy jobs we have to endure the sight of. anyway, i digress. one would be led to fantasise from the primary comment displayed here that the person concerned suffers from the same malign syndrome which basically boils down to 'the paradox of the audience member' the silliness of these comments cannot go unchallenged as they are substantially inaccurate as well as crude. I feel that, interestingly, the director is the one who draws the most comment here, as the author of this review quickly runs out of authentic comments to make about the film in question. it just so happens that most of the hundreds and hundreds of anodine generic films which get made around the world week in and week out pass without much comment of any note. They satisfy the public's hunger for tepidity. Dead daughters is a film which has provoked a great deal of reaction. The allusions which the author of the review sites are wildly inaccurate, he is projecting. Dead daughters is the independent expression of an intelligent mind. The reason why it arouses controversy is rather mystifying - i recently witnessed a person refusing to sit on the flag of england - she believed it had some sacrosanct capacity to hex her if she desecrated it. She was traduced by the beleifs associated with that image. I urge people to try and see things for what they are (a lump of coloured nylon in the case of the flag) and not to get the willing suspension of disbelief (or lack of it) mixed up with the mental illness of delusion. Surely that is one of the pertinent themes of dead daughters. And one which the reviewer (obeying the critical voice inside himself) failed to articulate their recognition of. although clearly, something got them going. something rooted in a sad and irreparable state of ignorance i fear. but never mind - it's not everyone who gets the joke. just ask ernie bishop.

First and the most important thing to know about this movie - it's served as a typical horror. And it's NOT.It's not a ghost story or a teen-slasher-roller-coaster, it is a story of people. Some unfortunates who found their place in society, but haven't found personal harmony with life that's been given to them. Not very pleasant, but truthful slice of modern society. That people don't have any point in their life, they don't know any better than "do what society expects of them", they're cowards and hypocrites, they don't deserve to live and they prove that as film goes. THAT is the story, and it has some ghost motives in the background.Expect to see people's drama - and you'll get it. Expect to take a ride on a teen-slasher - and you'll miss.

Can't say I'm a hardcore horror/slasher/whatever-with-blood-boobs-and-sfx fan. Might even say I get bored by such films. But this one is as different as it gets - true horror seeps from every possible plot hole, bland facial expression and camera movement. After two hours of watching I was absolutely terrified. Mostly of the fact that P. Ruminov might make another movie. Dead daughters come bundled with almost everything that was good in the last five years of horror films, but each and every brilliant idea, plot twist or piece of sfx only serves as a reminder of the original thing. The director claimed there are only two four-minute stills in the whole movie, which is innovative. And indeed it is - for the other 115 minutes the camera keeps wobbling, jumping and circling around every object in sight, bringing nausea and carrying away the viewer's ability to see the details. And then there's the desaturation, making everyone look like a malnourished vampire. The actors' performance is surprisingly realistic - they have absolutely no idea of what's going on around them and they're not afraid to show it by staring blankly at the camera. Also there is an unhealthy amount of inside jokes, only funny to hardcore Russian anime fans. Of course, the creator could use - and used - free advertisement, but by now almost each one of those fans who cheered for the future masterpiece is trying to move as far away as possible.I can congratulate Russian moviegoers on having an aspiring Uwe Boll-wannabe in business, of course, but I personally think one is more than enough.*It gets a two instead of one because of a single good joke. Two with a minus, but slightly above the ground.

No one's ever done it in Russia before. And I still cant f...ing believe I saw it yesterday and the world wouldn't – in the nearest 6 months (according the rumors). Taking a profitable original idea, proclaiming "doing the first Russian j-horror movie", getting the best underground (but rather non-major) casting-shooting–post-production team, fighting producers and all surrounding stupidity, Pavel Ruminov made neither a first national teen-horror, as he was expected by anyone, distributors incl., nor a "our answer to the best of genre". It should have been called "an auteur mystical thriller-drama". With a potential of blockbuster". Story of five young people socially trapped by a so familiar legend-of the-dead-dark haired-pussies-killing-everyone-who-sees-their-victim-last turned out to be just a ground for director's eagerness to use 10-year-making-short-movies experience on a big-screen project. Not to forget that in Ruminov's case "making movies" was never without a great deal of keen understanding, exploring and widening cinema horizons. Did he reach one of them? – Definitely yes and not for a minute of his Dead Daughters did he forget of the audience expectations. Brilliant camera-work (by Lyass), incredible city and interior visuals, astounding editing (by PR himself), mind-blowing sounding and variety of genres (well, horror mostly – from hints on Italian gore to the more or less American pattern) exploited during 110 minutes made me think I saw an indieAmerican-European movie, as nothing ever got closer to the cinema art in recent Russian cinema as DD did. Proclaiming himself a Russian Shyamalan-Kubrick-Spielberg kind of filmmaker, Ruminov is not so far from the truth. Surprising twist-in-the-end? Yes. Intelligent style? Yep. Commercial appeal. Well, if Praktika Pictures whose mythic promo-buzz made this project attractive for Hollywood wouldn't slack the speed – everything is possible. Since DD is done, there is nothing for them to be afraid of – unless its director is alive.