Jillian Murray in the poignant cinema treasure, Wild Things: Foursome (2010)
I really love Wild Things. I think it’s one of the great exploitation movies of all time – just a lot of fun. The sequels, on the other hand, just kept getting worse and worse. This one had some OK nudity, but the performances were roughly on the same level as one of those porn films written and filmed in the same single day. And frankly, it’s less like a sequel and more like a gimmicky remake of the original.
If you saw the original Wild Things when it came out, watching one of the sequels is tantamount to watching a high school presentation of a Broadway musical which you have seen performed by the original cast many years ago. The left tackle on your high school football team, no matter how many prosthetics they put on him to play Don Quijote, is not Richard Kiley. Sure, the words are the same, but everything is just many grades worse, and there’s no pleasure in watching it because you know how it will all turn out, even if you saw the original too long ago to remember the precise details.