Rating: 2/5
Oh My Horror 2025 | 36/52 | Zombies
On September 30th, Tom Corman sits at his typewriter, writing a byline for the local paper about a strange occurrence that has changed everything.
Mr. and Mrs. Griffith paddle through the dark Southern swamps on a fly-by-night mission to find gators. You’d think that would be easy in these swamps, but no one has spotted one in ages. Mr. Griffith hopes, if nothing else, to find an alligator corpse or two at the bottom of the water. They arrive at what used to be a gator haven. Mr. Griffith fires a revolver into the water, sending Mrs. Griffith to fetch his kill. But something drags her into the deep.
Game warden Miller Haze visits the local paper to brag about an 18-pound bass he caught. They look at the pictures and see signs that the bass is merely a baby. What could make a baby bass grow to such a size? Haze goes over to Sheriff Kowalski’s to play poker with him and Tom. While discussing rebuilding the old town bridge, Griffith runs in, panicked. Something caught Mrs. Griffith, and he has no clue what it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t a gator. It looked like something rotten.
Ever since that houseboat sank, nothing’s been the same. Tom’s on the case, chasing leads and Emmett Michael’s daughter, Shawn.
— Buddy, can you keep something under your hat? — It's a pretty big hat.
The cinematography is solid, erring on being too distant from the actors to avoid having to shoot coverage. The lighting is non-existent, and this is particularly noticeable during the day, as they make no effort to illuminate what the canopy shade obscures.
The zombie effects range from simple blue makeup to cheap rubber masks and gloves. The gore isn’t too bad in a couple of places, and a couple of the kills are surprisingly decent, but none of it is special. It works best when they lean into wet goop.
The story spends too much time with the locals, letting their antics fill out the already slight runtime. Thankfully, the filmmakers are not shy about killing them off. Still, there are too many kill scenes, and too many that are similar to one another. In case you have forgotten that this is a Fred Olen Ray movie, the film has an extended skinny-dipping scene. And this is in addition to a sheer clothing swimming scene.
Buster Crabbe is slumming in this no-budget shlock, but he makes a meal of his scenes without chewing the scenery. He, and everyone else in this movie, has a fake southern accent. None of them is intolerably hammy, but they push it.
The movie has a couple of comedic moments that are charming, only because the extras and more minor roles can’t help but break character or make eye contact with the camera. Any sign that someone had fun making this is welcome in my book.
I think you know already that this movie doesn’t have much going for it. That said, I can’t say I was ever bored. Then again, I have a high tolerance for these types of movies.