Wild Things
Fresh off her run in the slasher hit Scream, Neve Campbell seems poised to become the queen of lurid cinema trash. This is a compliment. For although Wild Things isn't quite as erotic or as thrilling as the erotic thriller it wants to be, it's nevertheless hard to walk that fine line between swampy camp and just plain dumb.
Campbell pulls it off. She's great as the pot-puffin' chick from the wrong side of the Everglades who becomes embroiled in a rape trial that disintegrates into a messy web of deceit. The man accused is her high school guidance counselor who may or may not have raped another high-class cheerleader/tramp, who may or may not be taking the cops for a ride.
Check your brain at the door - this is not a movie for the thinking man, as it bottom-feeds along the basement of soft core porn and Florida noir. The plot's hairpin turns are shocking at first, but soon become laughingly predictable as the bad-ass cop (Kevin Bacon) hunts for the truth. Bill Murray pops in unexpectedly to deliver a healthy dose of comedy as a (what else?) sleazy lawyer helping the accused rapist (Matt Dillon, in fine form as always).
Gratuitous sex scenes, grisly murders and triple-crosses abound. If you have tender sensibilities, stay away. If you like Russ Meyers or can appreciate the lurid thrill of teen-age girls in wet T-shirts seducing their teachers, by all means, stick your tongue in your cheek and check it out. And as an added bonus for the ladies, you'll get a quick glimpse of Kevin's Bacon.
Wild Things is 100 percent cheap thrills, a ridiculously overwritten, slumming farce. I got a big kick out of it.
- Jared O'Connor
MOVIES
All Content © 1997, 1998 Jared O'Connor and Michael Baker