Snake movie bites

Noel Vera

Dwight H. Little's "Anacondas," sequel to the efficient if not very
evocative 1997 monster flick, transfers the action from the depths of
the South American rainforest to that of Borneo, and ups the ante
from mere profit on the sale of a captured serpent to the more
Faustian bargain of eternal (or at least, greatly extended) life--
seems the juice of a certain "Blood Orchid" has the ability to
increase cellular lifespan several times over, making the potential
drug produced from its chemicals, as one corporate executive puts
it, "bigger than Viagra." Problem is, the orchid only blooms for six
months once every seven years (a Vulcan thing, maybe?), and they have
only two more weeks to collect more specimens to study and isolate
the orchid's life-extending properties.

This is the kind of movie where you just kill time before the monster
shows up and starts picking off the largely disposable cast, so most
of what is said and happens beforehand shouldn't be questioned too
closely--such things as why a powerful corporation doesn't have the
funds to fly or ship in a state-of-the-art river boat instead of
hiring a floating deathtrap commanded by Crocodile Dundee's younger
brother (Johnny Messner); or why everyone assumes that if a
particular orchid blooms once every seven years then all fellow
flowers must follow the same timetable, without fail (synchronized
blooming, imagine that); or why the fake-looking CGI anacondas are
unnaturally eager to bite their victims (they usually squeeze them to
death first) and as quick to wholly ingest them (it usually takes
them hours if not days to completely swallow large prey); or even why
anacondas should be found in Borneo at all (Anacondas are native to
South America; Borneo has pythons).

The expedition is underway, and there's rain, lots of rain; there's
an evil scientist (Matthew Marsden, recognizable as villainous by his
British accent) insisting that they find the bloom no matter what
happens (his claim that the orchid's drug may be "bigger than
penicillin" doesn't have as much punch as the Viagra remark, though);
there's your usual disposable ethnic minority (Nicholas Gonzalez) who
generously agrees to be one of the serpents' early appetizers; and
there's a ship dropping down a waterfall that's virtually a steal
from John Huston's "The African Queen," only we actually cared what
happened to the people in that movie.

Eventually we learn about these Indonesian anacondas' (I still can't
get over how they got there--smuggled pets that escaped, perhaps?
Imported test subjects for a genetic experiment gone wrong? Illegal
immigrants?) sexual habits: several males gather around one female
and wrap each other up in a "mating ball"--the image of an orgy of
overlong phalluses writhing in a huge ball seems amusingly kinky, and
further explains why male anacondas, who are said to be territorial,
would all gather in one location (but if the filmmakers actually went
through the effort of researching all these details, why anacondas in
Borneo--?).

The movie tries to make the best out of the poor hand it's dealt
with, throwing in a J.Lo lookalike (Salli Richardson, complete with
tough-girl attitude), some mildly amusing dialogue ("What's wrong
with this picture?" "You're in it"), and a quick quote from a hoax
internet picture of an anaconda with a human body partly protruding
(a Google search should produce copies of the original retouched
photo), but it's still slow going; at least the first movie had Jon
Voight hamming things up with his Ahab impersonation (Marsden as the
new villain doesn't do much more than make wild eyes, flare his
nostrils, and point a gun with a shaky hand). They actually bothered
to turn the stock Helpless Screaming Blonde into a Helpless Screaming
Black (Eugene Byrd, who shrieks amusingly), and tie the existence of
the orchid in with that of the snakes (apparently the snakes by
ingesting the orchid--anacondas aren't herbivores, by the way--live
long enough to grow to preposterous lengths, which, however, doesn't
explain why the same thing doesn't happen to all the other animals).
The silly script is credited to seven writers--always a sign of
trouble--and I spotted the names of Michael Miner and Ed Neumeier in
the list; either the two are responsible for the few traces of wit
and inventive plotting found in the movie, the rest lost through god
knows how many rewrites, or their careers post-"Robocop" have gone
very, very badly indeed, and the producers are using their names to
give the movie some much-needed cachet. Possibly a little of both.

Then--was I that bored, or was the salt and cholesterol from all the
buttered popcorn and caffeine from all the soda I ingested in a
desperate attempt to stay awake starting to affect my brain?--it hit
me: the true inspiration for this sequel are all those "Survivor"
reality shows. It made sense--a cast of good-looking women and
handsome hunks show up at some godforsaken place on some flimsy
excuse of a premise, with vague promises of untold riches waiting at
the other end of their adventures (bigger than Viagra!). They bitch
about each others' flaws, flirt with each others' girlfriends, make
tentative strategic alliances, and pass through all kinds of
challenges--the wade through waist-deep water, the slide down muddy
inclines, the slog through flooded tunnels, the gross-out session
with leeches, the tiptoe across unsteady log suspended over pit of
snakes--and instead of voting each other out they have a monster
serpent do it for them, permanently. Brilliant!

Well--brilliant idea, anyway; the movie itself would make for a
wonderful nap in front of the TV, if you push your reclining chair
way back and set the volume on low. Actually, the title "Anacondas:
The Search for the Blood Orchid" is about as flagrant a case of
misrepresentation as any you can find nowadays: the only hunt the
makers are really interested in conducting is deep into your wallet,
for the price of an admission.

(First published in Businessworld, 9/3/04)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)