Wild Things 2 is what happens when a film studio gets bored, digs around in its leftover swamp water, and decides, “Hey, remember that sleazy, twisty, wet fever dream from 1998 with Neve Campbell and Denise Richards? Let’s do that again—but with less plot, fewer brains, and zero charm.”
Enter Susan Ward, who plays Brittney Havers, the too-hot-to-be-in-high-school stepdaughter of a dead millionaire. She’s slick, gorgeous, and dressed like she lost a bet with a bottle of baby oil. You can’t blame Susan Ward for any of this—she looks amazing, works hard at giving off “seductive sociopath” vibes, and delivers her lines with the icy confidence of someone who knows she’s too good for this material. But that’s where the compliments stop.
The plot? It’s a recycled version of the first film, only dumber and twice as desperate. There’s a dead parent, a suspicious will, a greedy heiress, a sexually-charged best friend (Leila Arcieri), and more double-crosses than a crooked televangelist. But unlike the original, which at least had a shred of self-awareness, Wild Things 2 takes itself dead serious—like it’s Chinatown with cleavage.
And there’s no Matt Dillon this time, no Kevin Bacon penis scene to distract you from the plot holes. What we get instead is a parade of soulless characters who fake their deaths, stage betrayals, and strip down in motel rooms like they’re auditioning for a failed Cinemax reboot.
The movie’s idea of subtlety is zooming in on sweaty bodies while saxophone music wails like a horny ghost in the background. It’s sex without suspense, mystery without tension, and dialogue that sounds like it was written by a rejected Baywatch writer with a head injury.
Example? Try this gem:
“We’ll be millionaires by summer. Just stick to the plan.”
“What plan?”
“You know… the plan!”
Pulitzer-worthy.
The twists come fast and dumb, like a drunk guy doing donuts in a parking lot. And by the time the movie throws its final swerve at you—something about an FBI investigation and an evil aunt—you’re too numb from the softcore sludge to care.
The whole thing is like eating a gas station sandwich wrapped in a satin thong: sweaty, forgettable, and vaguely toxic.
Final Verdict
Wild Things 2 is sleaze without style. A thriller without thrills. It’s like someone tried to clone the original but ran out of DNA halfway through and substituted expired lip gloss and wet tank tops.
Susan Ward? A goddess trapped in a dumpster fire. Give her better scripts and leave this soggy retread in the DVD bin where it belongs.
1 out of 5 sleazy inheritance plots.
One star for Susan Ward’s bone structure. The rest is pure Cinemax sludge, but without the charm.
