Director: Jeff Wadlow
Stars: Kathryn Newton, Lana Condor, Nico Hiraga
Let’s make one thing abundantly clear; we are here on the good graces of Kathryn Newton alone who has – via a series of comedic horror roles in the likes of Freaky, Lisa Frankenstein, Abigail and Ready or Not: Here I Come – built up enough good will to potentially counter the successive travesties wrought on cinemagoers by Jeff Wadlow (responsible for the dire Truth or Dare, Fantasy Island and slightly-less-shit Imaginary). That his latest is yet another Killer Shark Movie for the pile ought to re-raise any red flags that his prior Blumhouse effort lowered. That it’s gone straight to streaming ought to have them fluttering wildly. Can the star power of Newton cancel out the dreaded Wadlow effect? Can it fuck.
The first problem that The Devil’s Mouth fails to hurdle is that it is, for some ungodly reason, 106 minutes long with little to justify it. Newton stars as Sara, one of a group of five Gen Zers vacationing in Thailand. Her controlling bestie Max (Lana Condor) is trying to sway her from a preferred career in New York in favour of following her to LA. When the group fail at basic maths aboard a pleasure boat, Sara is abandoned in the water and stung multiple times by jellyfish, further testing the bonds of their friendship. Drawing a line under this drama, the group proceed on another boat trip into peril, to the titular cave system for some scenic kayaking. Sara is wary of further creatures lurking in the shallows. Their guide Wat (Tayme Thapthimthong) assures them there’s nothing to be afraid of.
The Devil’s Mouth prioritises the grooves of a casual hangout movie while summarily failing to give us characters worthy of our interest. Sara and Max are not particularly original or engaging creations, their micro-dramas trivial and, broadly, uninteresting. Their comrades Greg (Gavin Casalegno), James (Nico Hiraga) and Adrienne (Tommi Rose) are even more basic. Greg, particularly, is the token himbo in a style that’s probably neat to Cheech ‘n’ Chong aficionados, flatly insulting to those he’s tasked with emulating. Hopefully they’re all too stupid to care. Sara is at the very least concerned for her fellow humans. Otherwise the vacuity is draining.
Wadlow’s mediocre attempts at building tension through teasing some great perils to come only underwhelm, making the time taken to get to the meat of the movie feel like more of a punishment than a pleasure. His shark lurks in the shadows while the characters gawp at rock formations and say things like, “This is sick”. The tedium may be real, but here, at least, Greg has a point. The natural beauty of some of the locations makes up for the paucity of character… somewhat. Some dodgily rendered phosphorescence actively challenges this, however.
Once 40 minutes have passed and the dreaded ‘S’ word has finally been uttered, the group descends into panic, with Sara and James the only clear-headed leaders. As light levels are reduced to five (and quickly fewer) head torches, Wadlow is mostly afforded darkness in which to hide his CGI monster. This also flattens the visual dexterity to desperately low levels. There’s really nothing here you haven’t seen before, better and clearer (more fool anyone who attempts to watch this in a well-lit room).
The Devil’s Mouth initially seems to have no rhyme or reason for its aquatic menace. A pure chaos engine. But no, obviously not. Obviously there has to be a labored metaphor, only here it’s the disinteresting friendship of the film’s two leads. Their shattered trust and snivelling codependency. This isn’t enough to carve it out from it’s many, many pre-existing variants in the field, however. 50 years and counting, and nobody’s come close to bettering Jaws. The persistence is remarkable though. We get several of these movies a year in one form or another, all in the thrall of Spielberg’s masterpiece, the movie that created the summer blockbuster and changed the industry (for better and undoubtedly for worse). Thanks to the ironic slop churned out in the Syfy era, most of my patience with these films has been eroded. You really need to go the extra mile and embrace either the raw, gruelling survival horror angle (The Shallows) or the impressively silly (47 Metres Down: Uncaged). The Devil’s Mouth opts for bland and murky earnestness that ultimately offers us nothing.
“Being with you is tiring” James bellows in Max’s face during a moment of eye-rolling, trivial frustration. Kinda sums up the experience of sitting with Wadlow’s latest bomb. Another s(t)inker. And while Newton may not be particularly guilty, neither does she make the experience worthwhile.
The Lost Highway Hotel 