When it comes to the breeding habits of actual crocodiles, females are known to nest as often as every year, or every couple of years, in order to keep multiplying – however, in a curious example of art imitating life, the croc infested Lake Placid series tends to multiply at roughly the same rate, with the SyFy channel insisting on offering yet more unnecessary follow ups to 1999’s fun, comedy thriller.
Yep, once again the busy TV channel expected us to wade through yet another ninety minutes of shockingly bad CG crocodiles, clumsily handled digital gore, familiar actors jobbing their asses off and – of course – random, scattered spots of nudity in order to drag in as many viewers as it possibly can.
However, in a completely unforeseen move, Lake Placid: The Final Chapter turns out to break the patten of irredeemable sequels by not being virtually unwatchable. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still pretty bad, but this fourth chapter rises up from the reeds to stand proudly as the least shit sequel the franchise has managed thus far.
A year after the events of the first movie has passed and the threat of giant crocodiles ingesting Black Lake has gotten to the point where the Army Core of Engineers has moved in and have built a Jurassic Park style, 10,000 volt electrified fence around the perimeter in order to keep the beleaguered and pissed off townsfolk safe. Of course, this doesn’t help one damn bit when shifty poachers, led by the rifle-toting Jimmy Bickerman, break in to steal themselves some croc eggs and find themselves brutally chewed for their transgressions.
Still, this doesn’t stop Sheriff Theresa Giove, Lieutenant Ryan Loffin and ex-poacher turned EPA agent, Reba (who survived her Lake Placid 3 mauling) from trying to stop the crocs from being completely wiped out for environmental reasons, but even their respect for violent, flesh-rending nature is tested when the Marshfield Swim Team’s tour bus inexplicably takes the wrong road and drives through the open gate to unwittingly party on the beach smack bang in the middle of the reptile’s hunting grounds. While the group is chiefly made up of biniki wearing mean girls and meat heads who unironically say things like “It’s go-time, bro”, among their number is Chloe, Theresa’s daughter, which causes the anxious Sheriff to rope together Loffin, Reba and a bunch of expendable deputies lock and load and head into the area to save as many as they can – including Loffin’s son, Max, who has gone missing while working on the fence.
As a carnivorous shit storm descends on the coach-load of unsuspecting teens, it seems that an extra complication is in the mix when it turns out that crusty old Jim Bickerman isn’t anywhere near as dead as the majority of his cohorts and promptly starts making trouble.
So first things first, yeah? I’m not even going to dignify the fact that this movie has the balls to label itself The Final Chapter when it couldn’t even keep that promise for three years with a smug comment and to give it it’s due, it held out way longer than Friday the 13th did at any rate…
In fact, if we’re giving this movie unspectacular dues, I might as well announce that even though this fourth paddle in Lake Placid is still a noticable dud, it’s far more watchable than parts two and three. Now, while I realise that saying that Lake Placid 4 is better than it’s two predecessors is like complimenting an abusive bully for improving their right hook, in the realms of SyFy sequels, you kind of have to take what little joy you can get; so with further ado, her come some of the most flimsy praise you’re likely to hear today.
Director Don Michael Paul has an IMDb list that leads like a graveyard of sequels that nimbly by-passed cinemas like Neo dodging a fullicade of bullets and yet, a career spent by dragging out the life span of various tired franchises has given him something of a knack when it comes to pacing films with budgets so tight they could induce claustrophobia. As a result, Lake Placid: The Final Chapter moves at a fairly rapid clip, interspersing its runtime with plenty of awkwardly staged, deaths that manage to hold your attention despite boasting some visual effects so ugly, not even a mother could love them. On top of computer generated imagery so bad, it makes the 2001 era Grand Theft Auto look like a 4K screening of Michael Mann’s Heat, we also have a typically sloppy script that has and entire coach of people not only drive their way to the wrong lake, but has them accidently pass through a 10,000 volt fence without even seeing it. Along with this comes the requisite, shitty dialogue with such galling exchanges as “Chole needs you!”, “Yeah? Well Brittany needs her head!” helping this trash slide down far smoother than it should.
The cast, featuring Angel’s Elisabeth Röhm and Eastenders’ Paul Nicholls, keeps events moving briskly along with a minimum of effort and the varied, tongue in cheek nature of the carnage (eg. a dudes dick getting bitten off whe he takes a leak) is spaced out nicely enough. However, the real plus points here are both the return of Yancy Butler’s Reba and the addition of Robert Englund’s drawling, ornery poacher as both are grizzled veterans with a long, cherished history in licensing up shite with their very presence. Butler attacks every line with a sarcastic, swaggering relish, punctuating every gravelly delivered wisecrack and pointed remark with a swig of a beer can. She may not actually add anything to the story aside from adding sardonic commentary about how fucking stupid everybody is, but you can tell that she’s having the time of her life waving rifles around and subverting a role traditionally given to a man. Englund, on the other hand, is something of an old pro at this, giving his all to projects that blatantly don’t deserve him as he gifts this crap with his legendary presence in order to pay the rent. While he’s a tad under utilised here (he’s conspicuous by his absence for the middle hour of the story), whenever he’s on screen, goes through his weighty repertoire of redneck tics in order to supply the film with a human villain while the CG crocs chomp everyone into mush.
To even hint that Lake Placid: The Final Chapter is even close to being a return to form is, frankly, laughable, but for all its infinite crappiness, this latest croc of shit actually proves to be an ever so slight improvement over the previous installments that have taken way too many bites out of my free time as it is.
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