As is appropriate when you're a media powerhouse like LeisureSuit.net, a lot of the studios send us passes to advanced screenings for their films. A lot, but not all. DreamWorks is one of those not yet with the program, which is why I found myself on Times Square on the opening day of The Haunting waiting in a long line to buy tickets. Showtime was in 20 minutes, and there were a good 15 minutes of folks waiting in front of me. It was hot. My date was sweating. The line had formed poorly, and we were in the street. It was looking like a bad start to a movie-going experience.

"Are you on line for the 6:45 show of The Haunting?" asked some couple who emerged out of the crowd holding a pair of tickets. I started to explain that this was the ticket buyers line, not the ticket holders, when the male member of the couple said, "We're not using our tickets, would you like them?"

Awesome--we were gonna dodge the 20-minute wait . . . I eagerly assented and reached in my pocket for some cash, but the guy handed me the tickets, said "enjoy it," and dashed off without taking any money. I was so shocked I barely had time to manage a "Thank you!" over my shoulder before we headed into the theatre to the grumbles of those who had been waiting on line nearby but hadn't gotten so lucky. Firstly, if the generous gentleman who gave us those tickets should read this, I'd like him to know that we were most appreciative, and if I hadn't been so surprised, I'd have been more effusive in my thanks. Secondly, I think the happy way I entered the theatre on this particular occasion may have colored my mood to be more favorably disposed to The Haunting. As silly and misguided a film as it is, I didn't hate it.

There are three scares in The Haunting, one involving a loud noise, one involving a plaster skeleton, and one involving good old-fashioned rubber and ketchup gore. There's also a lot of digital and otherwise cutting-edge special effects that don't generate any scares at all. Is there a lesson to be learned there? In The Exorcist, when the filmmakers wanted to see the characters' breath, they built a set in a meat locker. In The Haunting, when the filmmakers want to see characters' breath, they just put in some phony-looking FX poofs. Cinema technology, used poorly, makes people lazy--and it ain't much help for the scares.

The original 1963 adaptation of Shirley Jackson's novel The Haunting of Hill House took a few liberties with the characters, and this newest adaptation takes a few more. In this version, "Dr. Marrow" is investigating fear responses and assembles a group of insomniacs to Hill House claiming to be studying insomnia. Eleanor Lance is the frumpy spinster of the group, still tormented by memories of her sickly and domineering mother who recently passed away. Eleanor is played here by Lili Taylor, who is thankfully less aggravating than Julie Harris's original. Theo is the fashionable New Yorker, played here as flamboyantly bisexual by Catherine Zeta-Jones, a more colorful creation, in my estimation, than Claire Bloom in the 1963 version. Luke in 1963 was a preppy, martini-mixing college boy played by Russ "Twin Peaks" Tamblyn, and a pretty satisfactory personage. Owen Wilson plays him more as a blonde-haired surfer dude slacker type, and provides the requisite comic relief. The only place where this remake drops the casting ball is in rolling out the meager star power of Liam Neeson. One Richard Johnson played the role in the original, and he was a dashing, debonair and witty presence. Neeson doesn't bring much more to the part than yellow teeth, and it's an unfortunate gap in the ensemble.

Nick Nightingale from Eyes Wide Shut makes a brief appearance at the house, but leaves before playing a single note on the piano, blindfolded or otherwise. Bruce Dern also pops up welcoming Eleanor at the front gate, which should have sent her scrambling home right off the bat, but Eleanor's pretty intrepid, if a bit deranged . . . this film constructs a whole mystery for her to wander around the house solving, involving dead kids, and extra wives, and a lot of other stuff that's pretty confusing. For all the narrative momentum, alas, this film fails to generate any suspense. It just lurches along from one scene to another. Scare, relax. Attempted scare, relax.

I'm going to talk about the ending now. Not really ruin it--the screenplay takes care of that--but just point out that it's anticlimactic and possibly the worst ending of any film I've seen this year. After The Haunting's screenplay puts together this complicated narrative about the ghost of Hugh Crain holding underage textile workers in purgatory, it doesn't have any place to go with it, which is why we're treated to Lili Taylor exorcising the demon by exclaiming "It's about family! It's about family!" I swear to God I'm not making this up, and while it's definitely in keeping with the current political Zeitgeist, it's also spellbindingly hilarious to watch.

There's no reason The Haunting couldn't have been a decent film, but it's not. Still, when a picture is this zany and overwrought, you can't help but feel a little affection for it. Maybe it was Catherine Zeta-Jones and Owen Wilson I liked.

Or maybe it was just the free tickets messing with my head.