Wild Things 1998, Rated R

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Starring Kevin Bacon, Matt Dillon, Neve Campbell, Denise Richards.

After screening Wild Things, I spoke to a friend of mine, and he laughed, clapped his hands, and told me that I loved the film. "Uh, sort of," I said. Then, regardless of whether I wanted to hear it or not, he related the story of how he had come to see Wild Things. He had been at a theater to see some movie in March of '98--for all he remembers, it could have been The Muppets Know What You Did Last Summer--and instantly forgot about viewing anything else when he saw the Wild Things poster, that featured a dripping wet Richards and Campbell. I nodded, and noted that before delving into any criticism of this movie, I was going to have to make it perfectly clear that I do not use my penis as a divining rod for movies to see and enjoy. On that simplistic level, Wild Things could well be the best movie ever made. Richards' breasts are nice--please remember that prior to Starship Troopers, her claim to fame was that she played the "cleavage" girl in Seinfeld--and her lesbian tendencies with Campbell are a treat for that superficial male or female, but this didn't automatically make Wild Things enjoyable to watch. It was Stephen Peters' tight script and John McNaughton's oh-so-stylish sense of direction that kept this film entertaining.

Dillon stars as a high school guidance counselor in Old Money, Florida, who has been accused of raping two of his students, Richards, a spoiled, rich girl with a last name that carries the power of a 'Gates' or a 'Spielberg', and Campbell, who is described as "swamp trash", which is apparently the only social classification below that of 'white trash'. Kevin Bacon co-stars as a detective, not so convinced of Dillon's seemingly innocent appearance, fighting hard to get to the bottom of the affair. The case goes to court, and events soon begin to spiral rapidly out of control. And from here, Peters' script begins its circuitous route to a close.

With more left turns and characters who are not who they say they are than The Game, The Usual Suspects, and The Crying Game put together and multiplied by seven, the inherent pleasure in viewing Wild Things is high. There's nothing quite like two or three quick, crafty misconceptions, and ruses in a screenplay to keep the on-screen action lively and riveting. However, like the Sharon Stone debacle, Diabolique, at the end of Wild Things, the viewer has been tricked so often, and in so many different ways that it seems the characters have literally run out of knives with which to stab each other in the backs, but this is a minor point in the grand scheme of the film.

Bill Murray, who had a charming, off-beat role in McNaughton's previous film, Mad Dog and Glory, appears here in Wild Things in another charming, off-beat role as a good-natured, insurance scamming lawyer. Murray is as charismatic as ever, and effectively steals the film from its three good looking stars, which is no small task. McNaughton has captured the lifestyle of southern Florida well on camera, and Peters' debut script is quite solid. I was quite impressed with the manner that Peters repeatedly gets the audience to expect one thing, before allowing the trap door to open, shattering your expectations. I anticipated several of these earlier turns, but, for the most part, was clueless to their comings.

Wild Things isn't one of those films to write home about like Dances with Wolves or Remains of the Day, but was quite entertaining in a sleazy sort of Eszterhas way. And in that respect, Wild Things, I think I love you.