In the
category of movies that did not need (or warrant) a sequel, it’s hard
to come up with a better entry than 1997’s “Anaconda.” A terrible
film, it was still so idiotic and silly it easily ranked as a bad
movie easy to fall in love with. A camp phenomenon with Jon Voigt
going deliriously over-the-top and the rest of the cast (except for
Jennifer Lopez, whom you get the feeling she thinks she’s doing Mamet)
playing for laughs, there is plenty of absurd pleasure to be had if
you’re in the right frame of mind.
Still, not a
flick deserving of a sequel, and with surviving cast members J-Lo and
Ice Cube refusing to appear in one you’d think that would be the end
of the discussion. Unfortunately, it wasn’t, and if you thought the
last few weeks of August couldn’t get any worse (and after enduring
“Without a Paddle,” “Princess Diaries 2,” “Exorcist: The Beginning”
and “Yu-Gi-Oh!” how could you think otherwise), welcome to the jungle
of “Anacondas: The Hunt for the Black Orchid.”
What’s most
amusing about this Borneo-based thriller is that it is actually a
better movie than its ’97 precursor. Of course, that’s also part
of the problem. The first “Anaconda” was so bad – you gotta love the
regurgitated Voigt winking at the camera – it ranks right up there
with “Showgirls” as a modern camp classic. The same can’t be said for
the sequel. Just competent enough to be nearly interesting, it’s also
plodding and static and full of compounding cliches. Worse, it’s
boring, full of stock characters so lifelessly inert I imagined a
junior high school staging of “Cliff’s Notes Greatest Hits” to be far
more interesting.
Giving credit
where credit is due, the picture uses its beautiful
Fiji locations marvelously, and the cast of unknowns is relatively
attractive enough to add at least some passing interest in the
proceedings. Only passing, however, for the moment they open their
mouths all of them – every member of the cast and that has to be a
record – proves themselves to be unbelievably inept in front of the
camera. Even the usually reliable Morris Chestnut (“The Brothers,”
“Boyz N the Hood”) falters playing a pharmaceutical scientist
searching for the mysterious Blood Orchid (a flower with the powers of
eternal youth). He’s so wooden, so rigid, when a mysterious spider
bite renders him immobile these sequences ironically are Chestnut’s
most expressive of the entire picture.
The plot is
that staple of cheesy sci-fi horror, the journey of an impetuous band
of scientists trifling with nature in order to find a breakthrough to
enrich human kind (as well as their own pockets). As with all
journeys, there is the roguish guide (Johnny Messner, “The Whole Ten
Yards”) leading them, the questioning company man betting on failure (Salli
Richardson-Whitfield, “Biker Boyz”), the sexy ingenue hired more for
her looks than her brain (Kadee Strickland, “Something’s Gotta Give”)
and the secretive scientist (Matthew Marsden, “Black Hawk Down”) more
interested in his own personal gain then the welfare of his
compatriots. Do any of them add anything new to their portrayals, any
quirks or idiosyncrasies to make them at least a little interesting?
Nope, not in the least bit, and if it wasn’t for the extreme
attractiveness of Messner, Marsden and Asian actor Karl Yune (“Hold
Up”) there would be absolutely nothing separating them from those
struggling in anonymity at the local bistro.
As if dropping
the “H” from his name would make him suddenly a better filmmaker,
Dwight Little (responsible for winners like “Marked for Death,”
“Murder at 1600” and “Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers”)
directs with an iron fist and a wooden ear. The dialogue is atrocious,
with characters spouting of inanities like, “It will be bigger than
Viagra!” with all the gusto of a Shakespearean soliloquy. Everything
moves in fits and starts, and, at least according to Little, what good
is a thrill if it isn’t telegraphed five minutes beforehand?
The shame, and
I know it doesn’t sound like it by my descriptions, is that this
really is a better movie than the original. The special effects are
wonderful, the CGI serpents – for the most part – are slithering
sirens of icky grotesqueries that can’t help but unnerve. And, as much
fun as I make of the half-baked plot, it is a tried and true setup to
countless other B-pictures, so why Little and company couldn’t pull it
off even the slightest bit this time around your guess is as good as
mine.
Not that I even
remotely want to admit to caring to know why, however, “Anacondas” is
a bad movie and there’s just not two ways about that. The only thing
worth hunting for in this mess is the exit, and then maybe a quick
trip to the box office to demand your money back. Good luck on that
front, though, for that sucking sound you here isn’t a snake, it’s
Hollywood greedily gulping down another hard-earned ten bucks.
