Demon of Paradise

1987's Demon of Paradise is the last of a dying breed.  It probably sounds like I'm about to make a sweeping generalization about le cinema and perhaps spill some culture into your web browser.  Not quite!  Remember, I've recently outed myself as white trash.  I don't aim terribly high with my leisure pursuits.  Anyway, back on topic.  If there is one thing I love more than The Great Bluedini, it's the oft-forgotten man-in-a-suit creature feature.  Yes, I'm aware that I've covered these grounds before, but you have to oblige me, for today's subject is different.  Today's subject is underscored with a tincture of tragedy, a canopy of calamity.  To my knowledge, Demon is...well, was the last pre-CGI b-budget monster movie that I had to cross off my chopping list.

I've seen 'em all!  That's incredibly depressing.  I suppose that there is a chance, however minuscule, that I'll ferret out another diamond in the rough, but I'm mercurial (read: hard-headed).  My criteria doesn't allow for much breathing room.  I'm talking about monsters, man.  And it has to feature actual special effects, so that eliminates the lion's share of shot-on-video eyesores.  NOTE: I dig shot-on-video eyesores, but again, I'm on the prowl for monsters.  If a title springs to mind, please - for Roger Corman's sake - let me know.  I was hoping against hope that Demon would extricate the embroidery from my hooves (or knock my socks off, whichever came first).  Unfortunately, it fails to live up to the VHS box art.

The plot should be familiar to anyone who rented Piranha or Humanoids From the Deep back in the day.  I adore this sub-subgenre, so I wasn't discouraged by the fusty, run-of-the-gill (thank you, thank you) premise.  A herpetologist stationed in Hawaii believes that a recent rash of murders may be the evidence she needs to prove the existence of a local cryptid.  The cops are skeptical.  The journalists are skeptical.  The starfish are skeptical.  Cadavers continue to pile up, but of course, that doesn't convince the tourism board to lay low.  Good God, I could be describing a quintillion direct-to-video flicks.  Yet I maintain that wouldn't matter if Demon had its priorities straight.

I can live with the creature design.  That's one area where the box art doesn't wildly embellish and color outside the lines.  Conversely, we see the damn thing in broad daylight before the opening credits.  C'mon, movie; work with me here!  The death sequences are desiccated.  I counted more explosions than dead bodies, and that's using the metrics of Joe Bob's drive-in totals.  The film does deliver a prodigious pair of boobs, hence the Z'Dar rating.  You know what's really sad?  The acting is halfway decent.  To be precise, the acting pushes Demon of Paradise past miserable and smack dab in the middle of mediocre.  Ouch.