Misshapen, malodorous and firing its grubby tentacles across the room in a feeding frenzy, “The Thing” reminded me of a roomful of journalists immediately after someone announces Open Bar. The movie’s victims disappear like cocktail peanuts and without a whole lot more significance.
The prequel to the (stay with me here) 1982 John Carpenter remake of 1951’s “The Thing from Another World” is suspenseful enough and features some amazing gross-out effects, notably in the last half-hour or so when the creature shows off its array of talents. But here’s the thing: This movie is basically a sno-cone “Alien” or “Predator” and we’ve seen nearly a dozen of those. (Well, maybe you have. I think I made it through five.) The famous let-me-get-something-off-my-chest moment of “Alien” can never be matched by repetition because we’ll never see it for the first time again. Hollywood keeps doing remakes because they’re easy to market. They’re also easy to get bored with.
We begin in the winter of 1982, when some hardy Antarctic explorers happen across a giant underground spacecraft that seems to have been piloted by a dead alien who sits encased in a block of ice. An arrogant Norwegian scientist (Ulrich Thomsen) recruits a cute American paleontologist (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) — just call her Miss Thing — to help him dig out the alien for autopsy purposes. Can you guess what happens next?
The coolest aspect of a movie that’s icier than a Coors Light commercial is that, once the alien is getting down to business, he can sneak into your flesh, steal your DNA and knock you off (in both senses). The replicated, Thing-ified you will look exactly as you used to — a recipe for paranoia most eloquently cooked up in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
Carpenter handled this aspect brilliantly, but this film’s director, Matthjis van Heijningen, rushes past it. There are a few scenes of the cast trying to figure out who’s who: Anyone with dental fillings is OK because the creature can’t replicate inorganic material, causing one wag to wonder whether lifelong flossing will get him killed. But there isn’t much detective work. Nobody is thinking up tricks to figure out who to turn the blowtorch on next. They just stand with their fingers on triggers and await the opening of the next rib cage.
This creature splatter is excellent stuff but the director (I’m not spelling that name again) has no interest in the splatterees. The victims might as well be identified as Norwegians one through 10, plus a handful of interchangeable Americans who show us what they’re really like, way down deep inside. The climactic half hour is gut-check time, literally.
But where’s the big emotional payoff? Although the lead, Kate, seems nice enough, that’s all she is. The sole reason we know she’s the hero is that she logs a lot of screen time. Moreover, her antagonist is more of a jerk than a villain and a surprising moment involving two characters near the end would have had more punch if the film had built up a compelling relationship between the two. As it is, the movie ends with bodies everywhere but not much excitement about what comes next. My guess is we won’t be seeing this creature again unless he snags a more interesting co-star. How about “The Thing vs. Happy Feet”?