I watch a lot of bad films, what can I say, it’s a calling. However every now and again a film comes along so rancid, so utterly devoid of worth, bereft of merit, lacking in interest, that it is like biting into a ripe piece of limburger cheese that has been matured in a burly rugby half back’s sports truss over a period of years and feeling a bloated maggot burst against your teeth.
The Watermen is not the maggot in this parable. Oh no. The Watermen is the cloying lumpy ichor that bursts from the maggot’s vile carcass and coats your throat making you gag and heave. And it has an aftertaste that will make you want to gargle with bleach. THAT, ladies and germs, is The Watermen.
Written and directed by someone with the storytelling ability of a slime mould, The Waterman is a slasher movie spiced with some torture of the type that was fashionable last century.
After the obligatory “scary” opening involving possibly the most gratuitously exposed breast in horror film history and a large fish hook on a pole, we are introduced to three extremely unlikable male protagonists. Trailer (Jason middle-name-forever-Jay Mewes) is a cretin with a trust fund and a face like a leather wallet made out of a bat’s scrotum, he has arranged to take his friends Mike and Bret on a fishing trip with three nubile young glamour models (they don’t bother giving them characters, i’m going on appearances). These are three grown men between the ages of 30 and forty who amuse themselves by pulling their balls out on webcams. Beavis and Butthead wouldn’t want to be seen with these morons. And yes, you do get a long lingering look at Jason Mewes’ perky man cheese sack.
Anyway, they set sail. Mewes messes with some crab traps. The girls flash their breasts and collect their pay cheques. And before you can sing a verse of “Farewell and adieu to you dear Spanish ladies” the boat is dead in the water and the kids are being menaced by a bunch of fisherman who want to turn them into crab bait. Cue some genuinely distasteful torture scenes, some death, and some running around.
It’s complete shit, Mewes has the charisma of a wet flannel, and everyone involved should be taken to the nearest anthrax infested island and left there.
This review was originally published on http://www.chrisandphilpresent.co.uk/