When Your Monster Movie Is 90% Meetings and 10% Monster
Monstroid bills itself as “based on a true story” from Colombia in 1971 — which is already a red flag, because the only “true” part here is that the film exists. Everything else feels like it was pulled out of a leaky filing cabinet marked “Half-Baked Ideas” and then shot through a fog of exhaust from the world’s cheapest helicopter rental. The title promises a terrifying beast from the depths. What you actually get is a small-town soap opera occasionally interrupted by a creature that looks like it was built out of wet cardboard and shame.
Our Monster Is on a Strict Union Schedule
The beast shows up so infrequently you start to suspect it’s charging by the hour. People talk about it constantly, but it lurks off-screen for most of the movie, as if it’s embarrassed to be in Monstroid at all. When you finally do see it, you understand why: imagine a sock puppet mated with a taxidermied iguana, then someone glued a few teeth on it for “menace.” That’s our lake terror — less “It Came from the Deep” and more “It Escaped from the Kids’ Craft Table.”
Corporate Pollution, But Make It Boring
James Mitchum plays Bill Travis, a cement company troubleshooter sent to smooth things over in the Colombian village of Chimayo, which the company has been busy poisoning. The locals are angry, the activists are louder, and a TV reporter is snooping around for a scoop. This could be fertile ground for eco-horror, but instead of Jaws we get a two-hour PowerPoint presentation on corporate damage control, complete with multiple scenes of people sitting at desks negotiating media deals. You can almost smell the stale coffee.
The Human Drama Nobody Asked For
While the monster naps between appearances, we’re treated to a thrilling subplot where Pete, the plant administrator, tries to break up with his secretary so he can chase a helicopter pilot named Juanita. There’s also a group of townsfolk who burn a woman at the stake because… reasons? And a terrorist plot to blow up the cement plant, which is handled with all the tension of someone struggling to untangle Christmas lights. By the time the actual explosions happen, you’ve forgotten what was being blown up in the first place.
The Monster-Killing Plan Is… a Goat Bomb
When the film finally remembers it’s supposed to have a climax, Travis decides the best way to kill the beast is to stuff explosives inside a goat carcass, dangle it from a helicopter, and hope the creature takes the bait. This plan is so insane it should be brilliant, but Monstroid stages it like a wet Sunday fishing trip. The detonator is dropped, retrieved, and then — kaboom — the monster is gone in a splatter of budget constraints.
The Ending That Threatens You With a Sequel
Just when you think you’re safe, the movie delivers its final middle finger: two kids find a monster egg by the lake, it hatches, and the camera pans over dozens more. This is supposed to be ominous, but it plays like a public service announcement warning viewers that this could happen again. Considering how little happens the first time, that’s less of a threat and more of a dare.
Final Verdict: A Creature Feature Without the Feature or the Creature
Monstroid is a monster movie where the monster is the least interesting thing in it, which is saying a lot considering the rest of the plot is about as exciting as waiting for your clothes to dry at a laundromat. The creature’s screen time is shorter than a sneeze, the political intrigue is flatter than a puddle, and the love triangle subplots feel like they wandered in from a bad telenovela. Even John Carradine — legendary horror veteran — looks like he’s praying for death every time he appears.
This isn’t “so bad it’s good” — it’s “so bad you’ll start wondering if you left the stove on halfway through just for an excuse to stop watching.” The only real horror here is the pacing.
