A great monster movie is an increasing rarity. Horror movies, or at least what passes for horror film these days, are a dime a dozen. Bland movie re-hash-n'-slash is the Special of the Day in the greasy spoon that is the sloppily run multiplex. Getting out of the joint with ones hopes for the future of cinema alive, much less not seriously sick, should be the goal of those who punish themselves with return visits.
Notice I was talking about the state of the horror movie. Now lets talk about monster movies. Long the domain of mainly direct to video releases every once in a while - more often than their horror counterparts stateside - a glorious surprise hits the fan. We pay our ticket, lower our expectations and walk out short of breath. Of course a monster movie differs in that it is essentially about spectacle. Not just violent spectacle but a dark kind of wonder where the violence happens in a context that puts us in touch with more than the gag reflex. We encounter the other, the evil thing, the grotesque and wrestle with it. In this day and age where we are often asked to wrestle with it up close and uncomfortably personal it occurs to me we should demand more of that elusive quality we all hope to encounter from our monster movies.
And that quality is elusive. I admit description comes hard. I might want to leave the theater looking over my shoulder but I'd happily settle for leaving with a great big goofy grin on my face. I want to feel like I'm twelve years old, just snuck out of bed and caught something my parents would frown at on cable. I want to shake my head in disbelief saying “Are they allowed to do that in movies?!” And if I laugh then I want to laugh so hard I have to see the movie again just to catch what I missed the first time.
If all this sounds pretty left-brain that's because it is. A monster movie should be fun. In other words they are first and foremost about fun. They might have some subtext but mostly they are labors of love made by people who want nothing more than to be able to say “Look ma, no Hands!!! Wait a minute…where the @#$% are my hands! AUGHH!” It's the difference between the Frankenstein of the thirties and of the forties; of The Wolfman and Abbott and Costello Meet the Wolfman. It's the difference between cinema and movies; it's the difference between the theater and the playground and as squishy as it is [pun intended] it's real. Especially in Slither.
James Gunn has crafted an unaccountably intelligent movie by making it just as dumb as we need it to be. He is (dare I say Gooble Gobble?) one of us, a geek who likes to think about why he likes these things. Hence instead of the usual scattershot effort at making a great bad movie he takes the skeleton of a bad movie and adds to it by sheer filmmaking force until you realize that the thing is pretty big, pretty mean looking and slithering toward you faster than you can get away.
The magic ain't in the plot, which couldn't be less original. The small town of Wheelsy has been invaded, it's just that the townsfolk are too quaint to realize it even when dozens of pets go missing. But not even the sleepy town deputies fail to notice when a local woman goes missing. Meanwhile, we the audience have been privy to the alien takeover of local rich man Grant Grant (yes- you read that right), a character played with great comic timing and earnest seriousness by Michael Rooker whose most famous turn was as Henry in Henry Portrait of A Serial Killer. Soon Grant has begun to spread the love around, spawning a number of slug like children who in turn take over townsfolk who function more or less as zombie drones performing as a sort of hive mind for Grant who can speak through any of them. Will Slug Grant win back his wife? Will Sherrif Pardy save the girl from the mutant animatronic deer? Will you throw up because Slither is gross or from laughing too hard? These and other questions can only be answered with a viewing. Slither, don't walk to a theater near.
Did I say this film was disgusting? Trust me. This is the movie equivalent of lifting off scabs at the playground to show the guys that gross green puss stuff leaking out. Mostly it works because Gunn is aware of when you'll start saying, “No, way.” And then taking you there, but with a twist - usually one geared to make you snort your soda through your nose. When you aren't laughing at the end of such a moment odds are you'll be transfixed. In one memorable scene the posse of heroes have narrowly escaped an attack by a giant leech and his children. There's enough blood ooze and genuine sense of horror in the sequence to make you shrink back into your seat. But as they make their narrow escape the town mayor throws an off color fit about the absence of Mr. Pibb in the squad car. Never has a public official looked more realistic on film.
In another moment we see one of the townspeople, taken over by the aliens, wooing a woman in a trailer park. It's a sad but all too real sequence, taking place in that fictional white trash movie world where everyone talks with southern accents and cheats on their spouse while the baby watches from the crib. It's tawdry and, of course, beneath us. Except for the alien tentacles it could be part of an episode of Cheaters. We want to judge the woman, dismiss her as just another stupid piece of white trash detritus, completely removed from ourselves and our world. But we can't. What happens to her is so horrifying that we are transfixed. Watching the sequence play out against the backdrop of an Air Supply song is simultaneously horrifying, hilarious and ultimately such smart filmmaking that viewers are glued to the screen unable to look away. In the end she emerges from the sequence as a victim, a person, not just a “hey we could do that, wouldn't that be hilarious” moment of filmmaking.
It's worth noting that for all the films constant dropping of the F bomb, the sexual nature of the alien's infestation etc. there's absolutely nothing titillating about Slither. If you are turned on at any point in this film please seek help immediately. This is downright astonishing given Gunn's Troma-tized background. I've never been a big fan of Troma, which is another whole essay in itself, but the manic energy that made movies like The Toxic Avenger work is translated perfectly. In short this is pretty accessible stuff for fans but the squeamish, or newcomers to the genre might want to steer away or start elsewhere. But for fans like me who don't like gratuitous sex and nudity mixed in with our gratuitous violence Slither is a welcome breath of fresh air. Those who read my reviews on ScreenAnarchy enough to know my religious persuasion might be wondering why on earth a "good Christian" like myself would recommend Slither. Let's just say that I learned a long time ago that my choice wasn't between God and Godzilla. I also subscribe to the favorite maxim of my good friend and pastor Tom Cameron who is fond of quoting George Romero, “If you can't see the humor in dead people eating other people then I can't explain it.” Besides, what kind of Christian would I be if I didn't appreciate a piece of great apocalyptica.