I saw the new Crawl, which spends about 90 minutes detailing a town bracing for and dealing with the aftermath of a hurricane that reaches landfall, just after I’d spent about the same amount of time watching CNN’s coverage of Hurricane Barry approaching southern Louisiana.
Having torn myself away from the television to make a Saturday matinee, I transitioned from dumbfounded at that coincidence, to shock, to outright popcorn terror as Crawl sauntered along.
What’s “popcorn terror,” you ask? That’s my term for the kind of edge-of-your-seat, fun kind of fright that the best of movies can bring, when you know that no matter what, a film’s protagonist is going to make it out alive and that everything, in the end, is going to be ok.
Or do you?
Think of Alien. I could never have called Ripley making it out of there. Jurassic Park? I thought John Hammond was going to bite it…or more accurately, get bitten.
Walking into Crawl, I knew only that people were going to be terrorized by a rampaging alligator. I soon realized I didn’t know the half.
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