I fear, however, that someone evil is setting up a franchise of unscary low-budget horror crap, including prequels, in which a succession of dull people make obvious wishes with the box and pay for them in completely unsurprising ways.Įven given all of this, the most implausible thing about Wish Upon is that Clare’s dad is secretly a sexy sax player buried under a dumpster-diving trash scavenger. How is a selfish adolescent supposed to care about people she doesn’t even have homeroom with?
I mean, this is some bullshit black magic, not even really ironic or anything, if those blood prices to be paid are going to be extracted so randomly. See, the problem really is disengaged teachers.) Also to be fair(ish) to Clare (Joey King: Going in Style, Independence Day: Resurgence), some of the people who pay the price for Clare’s wishes with their deaths are only distantly, tangentially connected to her, so much so that she doesn’t know about one for quite a while after it happens, and wouldn’t learn about another (of someone she just met) if someone else she barely ever speaks to hadn’t told her about it. (The Chinese-language teacher at Clare’s school should be way more interested when she asks him about it. A box? A “fancy” box that’s “got Chinese writing on it”? And it grants wishes? That don’t come for free? Gosh.
Leonetti ( Annabelle) nor screenwriter Barbara Marshall have ever stumbled across the idea that one should be careful what one wishes for either, for they present their tale with something like revelatory glee, like they invented the concept. To be fair(ish) to Wish Upon, it’s entirely possible that neither director John R.
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