My brother and I used to, on occasion, haunt the drive-in theaters in and around San Diego. In the process, we saw more than our share of of early-'70s horror/slasher films.

So when it came time for us to go and see a film yesterday, we chose "My Soul to Take." It fit our time frame (3:45 p.m.), it was playing at NorthTown (free parking) and it was an appropriate work of genre (being written and directed by Wes Craven).  And we could watch it in 3-D.

In fact, it was missing only one thing. That, of course, being quality.

In fact, "My Soul to Take" may be one of the sloppiest, nonsensical "horror" films I have ever seen. And believe me, as I have lived through the Hammer, American International and Ed Wood eras, that's truly saying something.

The plot, as much as there is one, involves a serial killer whom we meet during an extended introduction. He comes in the person of a man who is either afflicted by a split personality or is possessed, a situation that is never cleared up (which lets Craven benefit from the current cultural obsession with all things paranormal).

After a particularly violent night of bloodletting, we cut to a night 16 years later when seven high-schoolers are celebrating their birthdays. These are children who were born the very night the killer either died or disappeared, something no one is sure of because ... NO BODY WAS EVER FOUND! Seriously.

Well, you know what happens. The seven are the usual mix of stereotypes: the bitchy blond, the bullying jock, the jokey sidekick, the African-American (who just happens to be blind), the generic Asian, the religoid (a very pretty ginger girl) and the self-effacing protagonist (who may be as schizoid as the killer himself). One by one, each is cleaved in twain. Or twains.

Who is the killer? Well, I say through the entire thing and I can't say for sure. The only thing I do know is that there will be a sequel. Has to be. Everything points to it, from the final "Scream"-like scene to the surviving characters to what has become the standard convention: Nothing's over until the box-office closes.

My brother had the best take. "My Soul to Take" is the perfect film for the Twitter generation. No scene or line of dialogue feels longer than 140 characters. Which means that there's never any need for development ... not of plot nor character nor even logic. Craven has just take the standard story parts and thrown them together for us to process internally. This makes "My Soul to Take" nearly interactive, but not in a good way. We can just say to ourselves, "Yeah, I know who that character is. I know why he/she is walking alone along that abandoned bridge/stretch of forest. How is he/she gonna get filleted?"

Oh, and the 3-D? Wretched. Not worth a single drachma of the extra money we paid.

Surprising for Craven, who survived his start with "The Last House on the Left" to make such satisfying films as the original "A Nightmare on Elm Street" (I'll ignore the sequels) and directed the absurdly knowing "Scream" films (which lay out the conventions so well that it's a wonder the genre has survived).

But does such posery make a difference to the genre's ready-made audience? Not likely. When I emerged from the theater, two boys of about middle-school age were waiting. "How was it?" the one with glasses asked. "Not very good," I answered. "Oh, too bad," the boy said before turning to his friend and adding, "I wanna see it anyway. I can't WAIT to see it."

The experience left me with one overriding thought: I hope the Mayans were right. I hope the world does end in 2012.

Below: The trailer for "My Soul to Take."