Piranha Part Two: The Spawning (1982)

Down in Jamaica, Club Elysium hosts an assortment of “characters,” all soaking up the sun and getting into mischief while waiting for the annual Grunion fish fry.  Scuba instructor Ann Kimbrough (Tricia O’Neil) loses one of her students to and becomes entangled in a fight against unnatural, flying piranha.  Her husband (Divorced?  Separated?) Steve (Lance Henriksen) is the local police chief who divides his time between investigating the recent rash of grisly deaths and harassing various residents and visitors.  Their son Chris (Ricky Paull Goldin) is a horny teen (I’m of the thinking that the unhorny variety is as rare as hen’s teeth).  And that’s pretty much all you need to know.

Producer/uncredited co-director/co-writer (under the guise of H. A. Milton, along with credited director James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee) Ovidio G. Assonitis had a penchant for ripoffs (and some more original, unique fare; The Visitor, anyone?) that were cheesy as all hell but still had a certain air of legitimacy, because they included genuinely talented Hollywood luminaries onscreen who seemed to have no problems delivering some genuinely godawful dialogue.  Folks like Henry Fonda, Glenn Ford, Shelley Winters, and John Huston would saunter into an Assonitis film, seem to stick around for slightly longer than they actually do (courtesy of some relatively slick editing and pacing), and saunter back out.  In an interview (if I recall, it was in an issue of Fangoria), Assonitis was asked how he got such great actors to appear in his less than auspicious efforts.  The Greek maverick’s response was as honest and forthright (but most importantly, simple) as any of the unabashedly imitative celluloid he produced: “I paid them.”  

Naturally, since he couldn’t afford someone like Fonda for an entire shoot to take on the protagonist role (and the advanced age of some of these actors would have been a little prohibitive considering the physical requirements), that responsibility would fall to younger folks like Henriksen, Bo Hopkins, et al.  What’s interesting in Piranha Part Two is that Henriksen really isn’t the star of the show, as one might expect from his Chief-Brody-esque character.  Ann is the main character here, and she’s actually a fairly strong female protagonist, which I credit to Cameron’s contributions to the screenplay (the man does self-assured, headstrong women better than most).  She’s single-ish, raising and supporting Chris by herself (yeah, Steve makes time for his son, but it’s mostly just checking in with him and being proud that he might be getting laid by the aloofly coquettish Alison [Leslie Graves]).  Ann’s job is one of some authority, requiring both technical knowledge and solid instincts.  Ann propels the plot forward; when she states to Steve that there’s something fishy going on (sorry), he doesn’t believe her, causing her to seek out answers for herself.  She isn’t defined by the men in her life, but she’s still a sexual being, and she sleeps with whom she chooses.  In a genre mostly ruled by Everyman heroes (think: Doug McClure in films like Humanoids from the Deep, and I’m pro Doug McClure), it’s rather refreshing at this point in cinema history to have an Everywoman capable of defeating the Big Bad who isn’t just a Final Girl.

Much like in the first Piranha, the idea of evolution is at play.  In that one, the killer fish were engineered to withstand the cold waters of the rivers of Vietnam.  Here, they’re engineered to fly.  Why?  Because flying piranha.  Though said evolution is man-made like something the Marvel Comics’ character The High Evolutionary might do, it’s still purpose progression (and piranha that can fly certainly have that many more options for dinner).  This notion of evolution branches off into the realm of mating, being (as far as this non-scientist writer knows) the actual course that evolution takes.  There’s the Grunion spawning at the resort, wherein the female tastily-named fish flop themselves up onto the beach to lay their eggs and become inseminated by the males.  Meanwhile, we have such human characters in pursuit of sex as Beverly, the ditzy, soon-to-be-corn-rowed bimbo who desperately flings herself at dorky Leo as soon as she hears that he’s a doctor (those survival instincts kicking in).  Mal, the stuttering chef at the club, gets hoodwinked into feeding co-floozies Loretta and Jai based on the promise of a strenuous ménage à trois.  Ann beds down with scuba student (and possibly more?) Tyler (Steve Marachuk), and Chris, of course, gets a bit of trim from Alison.  Then there is the nameless, faceless couple who get interrupted just prior to bumping uglies as the film opens.  You can argue that the sex in this film has nothing to do with mating or advancing and propagating the species, that in Piranha Part Two, it’s all principally for pleasure (both the audience’s and the characters’), and you would be correct, but like Sinatra crooned, you can’t have one without the other, and this is where it starts.

What’s perhaps most intriguing about this film is that it succeeds despite its one-dimensionality.  Aside from Ann, none of the characters are all that compelling.  The people in films like this are typically set up to be fodder, and that rule remains in effect here.  Cameron and company give us no reason to feel anything when any of them bites it (or gets bitten by it, take your pick).  Where Joe Dante’s original film gave us satirical caricatures, Piranha Part Two simply gives us cartoons, but it still wants us to care about their fates.  The rich boat “captain” that Chris works for is a gormless snob.  Chris and Alison are just hot young hormones on parade (fair enough on that one).  Jai and Loretta are cruel, duplicitous opportunists.  Beverly and Leo are spastic geek.  The hotel manager (in the coveted Larry Vaughn role) is just venal enough to be a dick but not enough to stress what the annual fish fry really, really means for his business.  Gabby (Ancile Gloudon) and his son are local fishermen who ply their trade with dynamite (we know they’re okay, because Steve lets them off for, what I would take to be, a rather serious safety violation).  We get a couple scenes where they show up, but aside from being what I assume is the sole source of dynamite within a twenty-mile radius, they mean nothing to the story despite the death of one of them, which is intended to be solemn and carry some emotional weight (it doesn’t).  Which brings us to Steve, who should have some kind of development in regards to his relationship with his family.  Yet, all Steve does in the story is be somewhat of a condescending asshole to Ann and pat Chris on the head.  Yes, he takes part in the big climax, but honestly, for all that came before with his character, it could have been any one of the others doing what he does.  Nevertheless, Piranha Part Two still manages to be enjoyable up to a point, regardless of its vacuity, partly because it’s well paced, partly because it’s just cockamamie enough for a lark, and partly because it does have Ann as the one shining point around which the rest of it congeals.  It’s not a standout of the Horror/Animals Amok genre/subgenre, but it fits the bill as a harmless diversion.

MVT:  Ann is smart, and sexy, and adept, and O’Neil’s performance sells what could have been rather foolish in the wrong hands.

Make or Break:  The finale is nicely edited, intercutting multiple events and building tension competently.  An abrupt ending undercuts it slightly, but not enough to totally ruin it.

Score:  6.75/10 

White Water Summer (1987)

My attraction to outdoor adventure films is in the scenery. The story plays second fiddle to the cinematography for me. Sure, I need a good story to anchor the film, lest I get bored halfway through, but I’m coming for the scenery. I take to it as a cinematic vacation, where I can be one with nature from the comfort of civilian life. It’s a cheat for sure, but I can’t always be out in the wilderness. Film acts as a welcome avatar.

Mind you, I’m not much of a camper. I enjoy going on hikes, but I’d prefer not to stay in a tent afterward, acting as a human burrito for wildlife. Add in years of growing up in fear of both a bear attack and/or a crazed serial killer on the loose and you’ve got a hesitation toward the camping lifestyle (think of the Jim Gaffigan camping bit and you’ve got my similar feelings). And yet, I’m fascinated by films dealing with camping and the wildlife. It’s so picturesque and comforting even in the face of danger!

I grew up similar to the protagonist in “White Water Summer,” Alan (Sean Astin). I was an introvert who would’ve been much happier spending my summer indoors than out (though I enjoyed the safety of my neighborhood once I moved out of the dangerous city). My parents tried to convince me to try camping and becoming a boy scout, but were never pushy when they noticed my hesitation. Alan’s parents, his father specifically, are the opposite: seeing the chance to spend a few weeks camping as a lesson in survival and growth. They’ve enlisted the aid of Vic (Kevin Bacon), a skilled survivalist, to take him into the wilderness and become one with nature.

The first half of the film is as expected. Vic is the polar opposite of Alan, a lover of the outdoors. The two share similarities, such as in their intelligence, but utilize their traits differently. Alan catches fish by crafting a makeshift trap out of supplies and natural resources; Vic does it the old-fashioned way, by hand, and scoffs at Alan for cheating. He punishes the poor boy on numerous occasions, forcing him to stay behind until a task is finished. He challenges his natural instincts such as in abandoning him to travel a rickety bridge over a hundred feet above water and sharp rocks and leaving him dangling atop a mountain. We can understand Vic’s reasoning, to teach the young teenager to survive, but also challenge his responsibility. Is it really sane for a man to leave a child hanging for his life (literally)? Think of the lawsuit and jail time he were to face had the children in his care were to perish?

Director Jeff Bleckner plays with that throughout, especially in the second half. He struggles in adapting the screenplay, written by Manya Starr & Ernest Kinoy, resulting in Vic’s abrasiveness coming across as sociopathic. There’s one instance where he nearly shoves a camper over the edge of a mountain after a verbal dispute. Considering the film’s overall pleasant tone, and the generally happy ending, this comes off as a conflict of interest. One I found somewhat amusing seeing as how the atmosphere was reminiscent of a campground slasher at times, made more palatable by the inclusion of “Friday the 13th” alum Kevin Bacon. I
didn’t expect it to nearly come to fruition in the final act.

It’s not that the sudden change in tone is a kneejerk reaction. Bleckner builds to it well, hinting at Vic’s questionable tactics. He’s never made out to be the bad guy, just a man with a firm belief in building a person up by challenging their senses. It’s no different than when someone tosses their child into the deep end to teach them how to swim. He’s always presiding over them, even when visibly absent, to ensure their safety if need be. The issue is in when it’s cranked up too much to service the drama, where we must suspend disbelief that the guide would allow his campers to catch pneumonia in a harrowing storm with no tent or, even worse, a wildlife attack.

Does Vic prove his point? Certainly, even if Alan’s cheesy narration (filmed two years later to give credence to his reminiscing) dilutes it. It’s just done so in such a heavy-handed way, with a fatal accident changing the course of direction, that it can cause friction. The connective tissue is there, as is the message, so it’s not a lost cause; just a shaky one, as rickety as the bridge Alan must cross.

I came for the scenery and “White Water Summer” didn’t disappoint in that front. The cinematography by the legendary John Alcott (one of his final films) is gorgeous and atmospheric! Starr & Kinoy’s script infuses the cinematography with a solid pillar. Bleckner keeps all of this in check with his direction, imbuing the film with the right amount of comradery, growth, and danger. It may be too heavy-handed at times, but it’s a pleasant trip nonetheless.

MVT: John Alcott’s cinematography. Sure, it’s the reason I was drawn to the film, but that’s not why it’s my MVT. That’d be because it lent much-needed atmosphere to the proceedings. The wilderness and, more importantly, camerawork, are just as much of a character as the campers are.

Make or Break: The rickety bridge sequence. It breaks up the soothing tone of the film, which at this point came packaged with numerous soft montages. It sets the stage for the forthcoming drama without going too over the top like some of the later predicaments.

Final Score: 7/10

The Case of the Scorpion's Tail (1971)

Scorpio is my favorite sign of the Zodiac, and not just because it’s my sign.  It’s not something silly like a fish or a crab or a scale.  Scorpions can sting you, and, in some cases, those stings can be fatal (my understanding is that they’re typically closer to a bee sting unless you’re particularly sensitive to their venom).  Real men get tattoos of things like scorpions with daggers and skulls and banners with sayings like “kill ‘em all” or “death before dishonor” or “Mom” on them.  Even outside of the appeal of its immediate, monstrous symbolism (but very much because of it), Scorpio is a favorite of hardasses and villains alike (and often both).  The psychopath in Dirty Harry is called Scorpio.  Nick Fury’s archenemy is called Scorpio (he even leads a team of supervillains based on the Zodiac, thus proving that Scorpios are tops).  Albert Brooks’ brilliant Hank Scorpio from The Simpsons is a pure James Bond supervillain with a go-get-‘em charm.  Robert Scorpio from the soap opera General Hospital is a smoldering pile of masculinity (okay, I might be stretching it with that one, though I’m sure there are plenty of folks who would vehemently disagree with me).  I’ve never heard of a character named Phil Pisces or Danny Sagittarius (and by the way, those names are now copyrighted by me, so back off).  Nevertheless, it’s with a much more un-macho perspective that Sergio Martino’s The Case of the Scorpion’s Tail (aka La Coda Dello Scorpione) approaches my beloved arachnid archetype.

As Lisa Baumer (Ida Galli) is busy making sweet, sweet love to her back door man, her husband’s plane is busy exploding in midair.  Turns out, hubby left Lisa with a one-million-dollar insurance benefit, but she has to travel to Greece in order to cash it out.  Enter Peter Lynch (George Hilton), the insurance investigator sent to keep tabs on her.  But a mysterious killer may soon put a stop to Lisa’s (or anybody’s) enjoyment of all that cold, hard cash.

Like so very, very many gialli, The Case of the Scorpion’s Tail deals with things like infidelity, and it does so with an air of suspicion (because these films are entirely predicated on the notion that everyone, including the protagonist, is a suspect).  Did Lisa have her husband killed, and if so, why take out so many innocent people to accomplish this?  Did she do it to spend time with her lover (who, coincidentally, is a flight steward)?  Does her former lover, a junkie who, bizarrely, only wants a pittance from the inheritance to feed his habit, have enough goods on Lisa to bring this gravy train to a complete halt?  Lisa and her husband haven’t been close for some time, and this emotional distance is the same thing that allows these types of characters to do the things they do.  These movies aren’t about love in a traditional sense.  Yes, sometimes the characters actually care about each other, but by and large, they are primal beings desperate to feed their carnal desires.  They are also the type of people who will have sex with someone just to get ahead or to place someone in their thrall.  Indeed, sex is a rather large cornerstone in all gialli, both as an exploitable element and as a plot device, and here it’s no different.  Every woman in the film is in a state of dishabille at some point or another, and the camera always accentuates and/or ogles them, bringing the audience into the mindset of the male (and sometimes female) characters.  But casual sex in gialli is also many times dangerous, luring murderers to their victims like the scent of pollen to bees (or a better analogy would be like the bait of a Venus flytrap to, well, flies).

Similarly, this film is heavy with the motif of following and being followed.  The opening credits roll over various shots of Lisa strolling through London in her bright red hat.  Sometimes the camera follows behind her, sometimes it observes her from afar (and this is a shot type repeated several times in the movie).  Likewise, Peter follows Lisa, journalist Cleo (the gloriously bountiful Anita Strindberg) follows Peter and Lisa, and the killer follows them all.  This concept works (and different gialli play it up to different degrees, though I can’t think of one off the top of my head that doesn’t have it to some extent) for two reasons.  First (and most obvious), from a narrative perspective, it produces some level of tension.  The character being followed may or may not know they are being followed.  The character following them may or may not intend them harm, but we don’t discover this until these sequences resolve themselves (and, okay, they’re often red herring style, jump scare payoffs, but not always, and therein lies the suspense [like Hitchcock’s time bomb setup, we know there’s going to be an explosion, we just don’t know whether or not the characters will be caught in it]).  Second, they allow the audience to become a purer strain of voyeur (something very prevalent in this film).  Frequently, these sequences wind up in a  character’s (99.99% of the time a female character’s) home, where said character simply must disrobe.  Meanwhile, the camera watches, unbeknownst to the character.  It satisfies the prurient interest of the audience in the same way that it enflames the libido of the spying character (otherwise, why not simply kill them the instant they walk through the door?).  It links sex and death with the anxiety of being caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing (in a What Happened to the Inquisitive Janitor kind of way; notice how often these scenes involve a peephole POV or keyhole-shaped matte).  And if nothing else, gialli are all about doing something you shouldn’t be doing.

These genre requirements, however, are just that in this film: requirements.  There is nothing particularly outstanding about the film’s plot, nothing all that compelling about the characters.  It satisfies the generic necessities and nothing else.  In fact, both plot and characters simply maunder along, as these things can have a tendency to do, until they hit the moment of “the big reveal” and then finish after some pat exposition labors to connect all the dots for us (though I’m of the opinion that the better ones are those that leave us just a little stupefied).  Unfortunately, in a genre where garishness is preferred, just hitting the beats in four/four time isn’t enough, and that’s all this film does.  Martino does bring a strong sense of style to the murder set pieces, but otherwise the film doesn’t make any attempt to distinguish itself from the pack.  The effort brought to the table in The Case of the Scorpion’s Tail is largely workmanlike, and sometimes that’s enough, but when you’re appearing onstage with Bootsy Collins, you may want to wear something a bit more striking than a sweatsuit.    

MVT:  Martino does manage to shine here and there with some nifty flourishes, but it’s kind of like spangling a day-old mackerel.

Make or Break:  There’s a murder that comes a bit later than would normally be expected, and it entices the audience with a hint of a “no rules” attitude that doesn’t materialize.

Score:  6/10

Final Girl (2015)

Good friend of the GGTMC, Stephen Scarlata, helped with the story of “Final Girl,” alongside Johnny T. Silver & Alejandro Seri. Seeing as how they weren’t credited for the screenplay (that honor goes to Adam Prince), I was unsure of how much of their vision made it to screen. I contacted Stephen and he informed me he pitched the idea of a female “First Blood.” That seeps through a bit in the film’s opening act, but Prince’s script drifts into another direction after.

Just because “Final Girl” isn’t the full-blown female “First Blood” that Stephen pitched doesn’t mean that it isn’t good. On the contrary, it’s a fun slice of genre mayhem once it gets past the clunkier elements. Knowing Stephen didn’t pen the script makes it easier for me to criticize it, mainly the characterizations. Some of the lesser characters speak in clichés and contrivances, which may read better than it’s executed. Prince is indebted to on-the-nose dialogue that cripples the drama at points.

Those lesser characters belong to a gang of spoiled rich children who live out their darkest fantasies by abducting women and hunting them in the woods. The gang is led by Jameson (Alexander Ludwig, who was in the similarly titled “The Final Girls” that same year), an 80s teen villain of the highest order: he’s blonde, pompous, good-looking, charming, and a complete asshole. His partners in crime are Shane (Cameron Bright), a stoic near mute whose girlfriend, Gwen (Francesca Eastwood), knows nothing of his murderous hobby; Nelson (Reece Thompson), more of the same sans a weird incestuous attraction to his mother; and Danny (Logan Huffman), an annoyingly over-the-top horndog who can’t keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it (and it will at one point). The four stalk a local diner and pick up women to take into the woods and hunt for sport.

Hot on their trails is William (Wes Bentley), a secret agent so secretive we don’t know who he works for. What we do know is he’s been training Veronica (Abigail Breslin) ever since she was a child to be a cold-blooded assassin. Her first mission is to go undercover as one of the gang’s victims and pick them off one by one. Think of her as a modern La Femme Nikita, right down to the casting of the youthful-looking Abigail Breslin.

Abigail is quite the beguiling actress. While a full-fledged adult, her appearance is still slightly reminiscent of a young teenager, making her perfect for this role! The character of Veronica needs a sense of youthful innocence to combat her icy demeanor, especially when she is to be charming and captivating (which she is in spades). Her attraction to William is meant to be uneasy and is because of the two actors’ performances, not because of the on-the-nose dialogue.

The only real issue I had with Veronica is in her characterization and not Breslin’s rather strong performance. She is set up from the start to be devoid of emotion, having been trained to be an emotionless killer from adolescence. And yet, she is shown to be a compassionate soul who struggles to shoot William on command. By this point, she has been trained for a decade, yet still shows signs of a novice (too much compassion, rusty fighting skills, etc.). Of course, once she’s dropped into her first mission, she’s a certifiable killing machine who only slips up on occasion.

Both Prince’s script and Tyler Shields’ direction suffer from a wonky first act. The setup is flimsy because both men seemingly want to get to the core of the story as quickly as possible. Character and world building comes across as a necessary evil for them. Shields is able to direct his actors with precision, which helps in alleviating some of the weaker mechanics.

Once the core of the story, the hunting of the rich snob murderers, takes center stage, the film runs smoothly. The gang’s pre-hunt ritual, an unsettling variation on Truth or Dare, goes a long way in defining their characters (albeit forcibly so) and setting the mood. Veronica plays a terrific damsel in distress to feed into the gang’s desires, only to turn the tables on them almost immediately. The inclusion of a serum that shows one’s darkest fears seems corny at first, but is quite effective in execution.

The real meat of the hunt is in the showdown between Veronica and Jameson. Breslin and Ludwig work off of each other tremendously, with his cocky attitude and her confident demeanor gelling well. While the other members of the gang play their roles too cheesily and over-the-top, Alexander finds the happy medium between obnoxiousness and contempt. We wanted the others to get their comeuppance solely to extinguish their annoyance. With Jameson, we want to see him get his comeuppance because he deserves it. Breslin plays the perfect foil to his madness.

“Final Girl” may be rough around the edges, but once it finds its footing, it’s a solid little thriller bolstered by strong performances!

MVT: Both Abigail Breslin & Alexander Ludwig. The two complement each other well and make the final showdown, what the film was building towards, satisfying.

Make or Break: The Truth or Dare game. Sets the mood for things to come, easing us into the hunt. Also acts as a turning point for the film, from shaky introduction to sturdy exploitation.

Final Score: 7/10