About half way through Fantasy Island, bored and tired of life, I started to think of other classic television shows that could be unearthed and given the Blumhouse treatment.
Hear me out.
Four older single women who share a house in Miami find themselves in a fight for their lives when a massive hurricane hits and their home is besieged by a pack of gigantic alligators. It’s The Golden Girls, but a thriller.
No? Okay, what about this? An astronaut is on a mission when his one-man capsule crash lands on a deserted island in the South Pacific. On the beach, he notices an unusual bottle, and when he uncorks it, he inadvertently releases an evil genie that possesses his body. It’s I Dream of Jeannie, but a supernatural horror.
No? How about Full House, but a murder mystery? Taxi, but a techno-thriller?
No? Fine. Let’s talk Fantasy Island instead.
So, here you have it, the latest in a long line of freshly exhumed properties desperately seeking an audience. This time, it’s the reimagining of a classic television series as a horror movie.
The concept, admittedly, is a promising one. The original, starring Ricardo Montalbán and Hervé Villechaize, already had the necessary ingredients. Take the notion of a magical island where people can live out their deepest desires, throw in a couple of dark twists, and you can easily turn it from a morality play into something far more nightmarish.
What’s more, the idea of a group of good looking strangers who find themselves in a fight for their lives after their idyllic vacation goes horribly wrong is pretty much the elevator pitch for almost every Blumhouse movie ever made. (Or at least it feels that way.)
The execution here, however, is painfully bland. With no scares whatsoever, except maybe the terrifying truth that no one making this movie really cares what you think. At the time of this writing, Fantasy Island, which was made for a measly $7 million, has already raked in close to $35 million worldwide. It’s made all of its money back, and then some. Mission accomplished. The Blumhouse formula wins again. It is a stark reminder that every Get Out, and Paranormal Activity, and Split we get from Jason Blum, comes with a price. And that price is another Ouija movie, or a third sequel to Paranormal Activity, or a Fantasy Island.
What we have here is essentially an origin story, with so much exposition that it essentially absolves the film of any mystery whatsoever. All of the dialogue just screams “FORESHADOWING!”. And the plot twists – of which there are many – are so ludicrous that you’ve checked out by the time the fourth one rolls around. And all of this with none of the kitschiness of Ricardo Montalbán!
Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of overacting here, but most of it feels less like it was intentional and more like it was the best that they could do. Lucy Hale is playing almost exactly the same person she did in Truth or Dare, Maggie Q is as expressionless as ever, and Ryan Hansen should have left Dick Casablancas on Veronica Mars.
As for Michael Peña’s Roarke, well, he’s no Ricardo Montalbán. Then again, he’s no Malcolm McDowell either. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going for suave, but every time he tried to do mysterious, he just came across as looking unimpressed and a little constipated.
Fantasy Island a la Blumhouse feels like a rejected television pilot from the 1990s. It is aspiring towards Cabin in the Woods, but remains hamstrung by a PG13 rating, an overly convoluted plot, and some truly terrible writing.
Worse still, I have no idea who this movie was made for. Fans of the television series will undoubtedly be left wanting. But so will thrill seekers looking for a good scare. This is a movie that is pointless and middling in every way.
Bet that Golden Girls idea is sounding pretty good right about now, huh?
Fantasy Island
109 minutes
Director: Jeff Wadlow
Writers: Jeff Wadlow, Chris Roach, and Jillian Jacobs
Cast: Michael Peña, Lucy Hale, Maggie Q, Austin Stowell, Portia Doubleday, Jimmy O. Yang, Ryan Hansen, Kim Coates, and Michael Rooker.
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