`Leprechaun 2': No Pot O' Gold

Movie review (No stars) "Leprechaun 2," with Warwick Davis, Charlie Heath, Shevonne Durkin. Directed by Rodman Flender, from a screenplay by Turi Meyer and Al Septien. Aurora Cinema, Everett 9 Cinemas, Grand Cinemas Alderwood, Gateway Center, Renton Village. "R" - Restricted because of violence.

It's probably pointless to ask why anyone would want to make, much less pay to see, a gratuitous sequel to last year's hopelessly inept horror cheapie "Leprechaun," but the sad fact is somebody's gone and done the deed. It's equally pointless to wonder if they're ashamed of themselves, because everything about this would-be horror franchise is utterly shameless.

"Leprechaun 2" doesn't even have the advantage of humor to redeem itself from the sheer drudgery of its hack work, which extends from its inept director all the way down to its supporting players, most of whom display the kind of talent one finds in . . . well, in bad horror flicks like this one.

All of the microbudget prerequisites are on pathetic display here, including a perky, vacuous blond damsel in distress (Shevonne Durkin), her zero-charisma boyfriend with about half of Joey Lawrence's thespian ability (Charlie Heath), and, of course, the little Irish hell raiser himself, who under all of that badly painted latex is Warwick Davis, the appealing dwarf actor who played the title role in "Willow" and has been relegated to desperate work like this since.

Having waited a thousand years to find a suitable bride, the Leprechaun comes to Hollywood (where else?) and sets his sights on the pretty young Durkin, whereupon Heath comes to rescue her after acquiring a magic shilling from the little green guy's pot o' gold. You see, the boyfriend's invincible with the coin, and the Leprechaun can be killed with anything made of wrought iron.

Oh, but there's more! The Leprechaun has to score a few points on the gore meter, so we're treated to a few discreetly grisly killings, including death by power of suggestion (ol' Leppy tricks one kid into thinking he's going to kiss Durkin's breasts, but wait! They're actually spinning lawn-mower blades!) and death by a steaming espresso machine. Seattle viewers (like the four people who endured a matinee with yours truly) ought to appreciate that one, at least.