The Killer Shrews 2002 Horror Movie Review

This is just one of those movies that would have it’s effects tripled by gross amounts of marijuana. For several years, this has been the bad movie of choice in my group of friends for many reasons. It was probably the first truly bad movie I ever saw, introduced to me by my own mother, an avid fan of bad movies herself, when I was much younger. I can picture her screaming in laughter on a ratty old couch back in the seventies watching this movie, as the parade of dogs dressed up as Killer Shrews invade the house where our protagonists live, trapped on an island isolated from anyone who doesn’t smoke or drink in every shot. Some people actually cite this as a classic creature flick, which might be true. Sometimes, it actually does make some kind of sense, and it does progress in a way that could be entertaining to a mass audience. Perhaps this is why we like it so much…because we can make some kind of case for it. But make no mistake, the movie is absolutely abysmal. The acting sucks, the shrews themselves are deliciously cheesy, and funny details are revealed upon continuous viewing only reinforcing that this is one of the most poorly thought out movies ever. Just for a few small examples, the movie is obviously quite racist (think the classic quote “Automatic pilot can’t play Dixieland jazz on those banjos like I can!” and also the fact that God himself seems to smite our poor, sensible black accomplice), the main actress having an orgasm underneath the bizarre trashcan contraption that the team makes to escape the island, and the absolutely monumental train wreck of dialog in the final scene on the boat. This is a movie you come back to. This is a movie you watch every Halloween. Just say the name out loud, right now, in front of your computer monitor. The Killer Shrews. You know you want to watch this movie. Positively unfathomable.