CRAWL
(2019)
Starring
Kaya Scodelario, Barry Pepper, Ross Anderson, Moryfydd Clark.
Directed by Alexandre Aja. (97 min)
Essay
by D.M. ANDERSONđ
I
am guilty of murder. Multiple-murders, actually. In fact, I might even be a serial killer. I knew some of my
victims, while others were complete strangers. But all of them had
one thing in common: They deserved what they got.
Like
many writers with quietly-vindictive dispositions and a poison pen,
Iâve occasionally taken perverse pleasure in vicariously killing
those whoâve wronged me in real life. Through various writings over the
years, Iâve whacked childhood bullies, girlfriends who broke up
with me, various in-laws, a few former bosses, bad drivers, noisy
neighbors, our current president, my ex-wife and the guy who slept
with her.
Iâve just recently killed again, and if youâll indulge me, Iâd
like to offer my written confessionâŚ
One
sunny summer afternoon, me and my youngest daughter, Lucy, decided to
escape the heat and take in a movie. The multiplex was busier than I expected, but
fortunately for us, most appeared to be there for Disneyâs NatGeo musical, The Lion King, while
we were planning to
check-out
the
gobblinâ gatorfest, Crawl.
Both of us being horror fans, ravenous
reptiles had considerably more appeal than computer-created cats
belting out 25-year-old showtunes.
Crawl
was one of only two movies at this 10-screen theater that wasnât a
sequel, remake, reboot or part of a cinematic universe, meaning no one was lined up to see it.
While thatâs
kind-of a sad testimony on the current state of suburban
moviegoing, it
also meant there was a decent
chance Lucy and I would
have the theater to ourselves.
 |
"No one tells me 'See ya later'." |
Iâd
actually been pretty jazzed to see Crawl
for awhile, being that it looked like a mash-up of my two favorite
genres: disaster and killer animals. As for Lucy, I
think Iâve
raised her right. While I
couldnât
to get her to appreciate the cataclysmic pleasures of The
Towering Inferno or Deep
Impact, she grew up loving
the likes of Jaws,
Jurassic Park and
Eight Legged Freaks.
As fans
if either genre will attest,
such movies are either
good, terrible or good because they're terrible.
Crawl
turned out to be a good one, partially because of its
more-or-less straight-forward
approach,
but mainly because it delivers exactly what it promises. Taking
place in Florida during a hurricane, Haley
Keller (Kaya Scodelario) is a collegiate swimmer who reluctantly
returns home
to look for her estranged father, Dave (Barry Pepper), because
he isnât
answering
his phone. The town is already beginning to flood by the time she
arrives. When she gets to the house, Haley learns why her
dad didnât return her calls: Heâs stuck
in the crawlspace below
with serious injuries. She
also discovers
â the hard way â what injured him in the first place. Lurking under the
house with them are a couple oâ
big-ass alligators.
With
the water rising, Haley and Dave need to get out, which
is easier said than done. Not only are both of them hurt, their
phones donât work, the town is evacuated and hungry gators are
everywhere, as a boatload of looters and some local cops fatally
discover. This is all before
the hurricane reaches full force. Then thereâs Daveâs
mangy mutt, Sugar, and
goddamn if he
isnât just personable enough to have the viewer going âOh,
no! Not the Dog!â every ten
minutes or so.
 |
"This makes me wanna pee." |
None
of it is
very plausible, but itâs
deftly directed by Alexandre
Aja, who knows how to build
suspense and put-together some great, well-timed
jump-scares, most of which do not come
when expected. He also knows
a movie like this needs
characters we care about for any of it to work. Most of the secondary
cast is simply gator fodder, but Haley and Dave are sympathetic and
likable, the complexities of
their volatile relationship explored with a surprising amount of depth.
Crawl wonât make
anyone forget Jaws,
but itâs fast-paced and fun, with visual effects that are
more-or-less convincing and a few great critter kills.
Not
that the idiot seated a few rows ahead of us ever noticed.
Alas,
despite the fact Crawl
wasnât exactly packinâ
âem in, Lucy and I didnât quite have the theater to ourselves.
Near
the front was a
guy, maybe in his late-twenties, who looked like he just graduated
from the Douche Academy: Tapout muscle shirt, tribal tattoo, gym
shorts and fucking sandals (never trust a guy wearing sandals
anywhere but the beach). He was loudly barking into his cellphone and
Iâm sure if I tore it from his hand, Iâd find 90 selfies of him
giving the backwards peace-sign. While his friend sat next to him in
silence, this guy â whom weâll dub Chad because calling
him Dick would be too obvious
â laughed and dropped
f-bombs without regard to anyone else in the
vicinity. Lucy and I took seats a few rows back, thinking heâd
probably shut-up once the lights went down.
Though
he did put his phone away (for
now), Chad talked through all
the previews, occasionally laughing. I didnât know what he was
saying, but he had one of those booming
voices that seemed to
reverberate throughout the
theater. Nor did he stop when the movie started. While his friend
remained relatively quiet, Chad consistently made comments and
talked at the screen, stopping only to occasionally pull out his
phone for a quick text. Hell,
he kept talking even while his friend left to fetch a soda, meaning
he was so into himself and his own babbling that it didnât matter
if anyone was actually listening. Hoping to avoid an unpleasant
confrontation, Lucy and I moved further back, and even though it
made Chadâs douchebaggery
at-least tolerable, we could still hear him bubbling under the surface of everything happening on-screen.
 |
Kitchen Nightmares: The Movie |
Afterwards,
Chad was out of his seat and on his phone the second the credits
began to roll. However, the
act of talking & talking was apparently too cumbersome, so he
stopped at the entrance, meaning Lucy and I had to walk around his
ignorant
ass. Thatâs it, I
thought. Enough is enough.
I
stopped, turned to face him and
indignantly stated,
âYou, sir, are one of the worst people
Iâve ever shared a theater with.â
Chad
shot me a glance. His mouth
fell open, a string of drool hanging from his lip. âWha?â
Then he continued
his phone conversation.
Further
incensed and taking a cue from Bruce Willis in The Last Boy
Scout, I gave Chad a swift,
powerful palm-strike to the nose. I felt a
satisfying crunch, confident
Iâd just driven bone shards
into that feeble brain. Chadâs eyes crossed as he dropped his phone. He wobbled a few seconds, then
dropped to the floor like a bag of wet cement. I nonchalantly took
his phone and casually informed the individual on the other end that
Chad was no longer available. Then I rolled him over, yanked down
his gym shorts
and shoved the phone up his ass.
"Oh
my God,â Chadâs friend cried as he scampered toward the lobby.
âYou killed him! You killed him!â
Hearing
the commotion, patrons began filing out of other theaters,
gasping when they spotted Chadâs twitching corpse. The phone lodged between his butt-cheeks began to vibrate.
Soon
after, the manager pushed his way through the gathering crowd.
âAlright, alright! Whatâs going on, here?â He looked down at
the body, then at Lucy and I. âWhat happened?â
Chadâs
friend aimed an accusing finger my way. âHe killed Chad! Killed him
in cold blood!â
The
manager lifted a brow. âDid you?â
"Indeed,
I did,â I replied. âHe was talking during the movie.â
He
glanced to Chadâs friend inquisitively. âIs that true?â
Chadâs
friend slowly exhaled and began to nod. âYeah...yeah he was...quite
a bit, actually.â
Regarding me once again, the managerâs harsh face curled into a toothy grin. He
placed a hand on my shoulder. âYou, good
sir, are a
hero.â Then he turned to address the crowd. âLadies and
gentleman! We are in the presence of greatness! This
guy stood up to a
douchebag and gave him exactly what he deserved!â
The
crowd suddenly broke out into cheers and applause. They
hoisted me above their heads as they chanted âDave! Dave!
Dave!â Even Chadâs friend
gave me a hearty high-five.
"Yay,
Daddy!â Lucy shouted, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks. âIâm
proud to be your daughter!â
 |
"Go, Dave, go!" |
As
the crowd carried me to the lobby on their shoulders, the manager
boldly
proclaimed, âFree movie tickets for life, Dave! For you and your
whole family!â
Suddenly,
Salma Hayek emerged from the
crowd, shot me a seductive smile and offered the key to her hotel
room. Though flattered, I politely informed her I was happily
married. âBut Iâll see you in the movies!â I added.
"Mister,
itâs a date!â she replied.
Just
then, a CNN news van screeched to a halt in from of the theater.
Anderson Cooper and a cameraman burst into the lobby. After the crowd
finally put me down, I strolled over for my interview.
Anderson
thrust a microphone in my face. âDave, you just liberated the world from
a notorious cinema terrorist. To what do you credit your
awesomeness?â
"Well,
Andy,â
I replied. âI can call you
Andy, right? I owe it all to
God, clean living and learning how to kill a man with my bare hands
from
watching action movies. I also wanna thank my lovely wife for finding
that twenty dollar bill in my pants while doing the laundry. Without
it, this afternoon at the movies with my kid wouldnât have been
possible.â
"Speaking of kids, do
you have words of advice for little ones who might be watching?â
With
that, I grabbed the microphone and stared into the camera with the
most menacing mug I could muster. âWhen youâre at the movies, kids, shut the fuck up. I
just might be watching.â
Then I dropped the mic, took Lucy by the hand and strolled out of the
theater. As the crowd followed, Anderson and Salma led them in a
chorus of âFor Heâs a Jolly Good Fellow.â
And
there you have it. My confession. While it feels liberating to get it
off my chest, I canât help but wonder when (not if) Iâll be
compelled to kill again. After all, there are legions of Chads out
there and I seem to run into most of them at the movies. Here's hoping
the next Chad wonât be you.