This movie is like a textbook on how to make a 61 minute feature length movie with the change in your pocket. First, acquire enough stock footage of wild animals and rivers to make California look like Africa (a bit), shoot a few action scenes without sound and have a character narrate over them to avoid having to shoot with synched sound, and have the three male 'leads' walk around a lot to kill time. Poof, you burned half an hour without encountering a single Wild Woman!
When we finally do meet the eponymous females we discover that they have just come from Mamie van Doren's hair salon, and like to wear animal print bikinis that show off their tan lines. Plus, they appear to have learned their tribal dances by watching drunks gyrate at a suburban New Year's Eve party. And at some point, they learned comic book native English ("me know white man talk").
The movie grinds to a halt at that point, as the male leads, having survived a somewhat uncomfortable hike for the first half of the movie, now only want to escape from the clutches of the very tribe they came all that way to meet. Fickle men. No wonder the Wild Women want to sacrifice them to the Fire God. (Note that no stock footage of fire gods was available, and so he remains offscreen.)
The inevitable tug-of-war over the hunkiest male ensues, leading to a showdown between alpha Wild Women. Five minutes of hair-pulling and dust-wrestling later, we have our sixty-one minute opus in the can. And only about ten of those minutes count as actual plot. A travel commercial by the Puerto Rico tourist board has more story development, not to mention better acting.
Is it worse than a Godfrey Ho ninja movie. No, but that is a tough standard to beat. Wild Women ultimately is too tame to hate watch, but also too thin and weak to make fun of. The fact that it got released at all after four years tucked away on a shelf (the distributor was embarrassed to have it) is something of an achievement.
When we finally do meet the eponymous females we discover that they have just come from Mamie van Doren's hair salon, and like to wear animal print bikinis that show off their tan lines. Plus, they appear to have learned their tribal dances by watching drunks gyrate at a suburban New Year's Eve party. And at some point, they learned comic book native English ("me know white man talk").
The movie grinds to a halt at that point, as the male leads, having survived a somewhat uncomfortable hike for the first half of the movie, now only want to escape from the clutches of the very tribe they came all that way to meet. Fickle men. No wonder the Wild Women want to sacrifice them to the Fire God. (Note that no stock footage of fire gods was available, and so he remains offscreen.)
The inevitable tug-of-war over the hunkiest male ensues, leading to a showdown between alpha Wild Women. Five minutes of hair-pulling and dust-wrestling later, we have our sixty-one minute opus in the can. And only about ten of those minutes count as actual plot. A travel commercial by the Puerto Rico tourist board has more story development, not to mention better acting.
Is it worse than a Godfrey Ho ninja movie. No, but that is a tough standard to beat. Wild Women ultimately is too tame to hate watch, but also too thin and weak to make fun of. The fact that it got released at all after four years tucked away on a shelf (the distributor was embarrassed to have it) is something of an achievement.