A motley group of young people head for a remote desert cabin where they plan to kick back for a couple of days, which means drinking even more, and using even more drugs, than they're consuming before they get to the cabin; and where the guys plan to put the move on the girls, except, of course, for the clearly defined sharp-tongued Plain Jane. Naturally, something hungry is lurking out there in the desert; something that makes an awful lot of noise chewing and swallowing.
The average episode of SpongeBob Squarepants has better writing and acting, and more depth and complexity, than this dreck. It's as if the cast, director and crew who are making this movie are out there only as an excuse to do for real BEHIND the camera what the actors are pretending to be doing in FRONT of the camera: namely, cursing, drinking cheap booze, and taking a variety of drugs, while the guys haplessly strut about putting the moves on the girls, who act suitably coy, until they get tired of acting coy, and so of course suffer the usual fate of pretty young women in movies like this, which is to be devoured a minute or two after foreplay has started. (Actually, calling them "actors" is being generous.) The filmmakers did themselves and their film no favors by naming their production company Brain Damage Films.
Actually, now that I come to think about it, this dismal dog of a flick has improved my life, because watching it, I had to confront the question of whether I really, truly, absolutely, positively have nothing better to do with my time than to watch drivel like this.
The average episode of SpongeBob Squarepants has better writing and acting, and more depth and complexity, than this dreck. It's as if the cast, director and crew who are making this movie are out there only as an excuse to do for real BEHIND the camera what the actors are pretending to be doing in FRONT of the camera: namely, cursing, drinking cheap booze, and taking a variety of drugs, while the guys haplessly strut about putting the moves on the girls, who act suitably coy, until they get tired of acting coy, and so of course suffer the usual fate of pretty young women in movies like this, which is to be devoured a minute or two after foreplay has started. (Actually, calling them "actors" is being generous.) The filmmakers did themselves and their film no favors by naming their production company Brain Damage Films.
Actually, now that I come to think about it, this dismal dog of a flick has improved my life, because watching it, I had to confront the question of whether I really, truly, absolutely, positively have nothing better to do with my time than to watch drivel like this.