Sting Review

Monster movies have existed almost as long as movies themselves, "creature features" if you will, and anyone who grew up on a steady diet of cinematic dinosaurs, alligators, snakes, mantises, and of course, spiders, laments the current CGI cheese that is the world today. But much like how "Jaws" is, and probably will be forever, the defacto "shark movie," 1990's "Arachnophobia" is the spider movie to beat, and "Sting," while far from made-for-TV schlock, is unlikely to turn anyone into an, ahem, arachnophobe.

It's biggest issue isn't its special effects, which seldom look fake, but it's own ambition. It wants so badly to be bigger than its seemingly small budget can afford, taking place in a single-location (a snowed-in apartment building), sports a very small cast and gives the characters such detailed backstory that it sometimes forgets it's a movie about a killer spider from space (space!). We follow Charlotte (a terrific Alyla Browne), a spunky and kinda weird preteen who finds the little arachnid in her grandma's apartment. Her grandma is suffering from Alzheimer's (or at least it suggests as much), which leads to some surprisingly funny dialogue, like her trying to pet the "big black dog" that came out of her wall.

Alyla strikes the perfect balance of naivety and maturity, initially fascinated by the little eight-legged pet she names "Sting." But he grows quickly and soon begins sneaking out of his glass jar home and attacks no less than a bird, cat and dog. Yes pet-lovers, you'll probably need to shield your eyes a few times.

She lives in a different apartment, with her mom Heather (Penelope Mitchell), stepdad Ethan (Ryan Corr) and baby brother. Both her parents work during the day and are working on their own comic book at night (yes really), but thanks to Ethan, who's the complex's maintenance worker, they don't have to pay rent. Or something like that. See, there is far FAR too much characterization in a film about a giant space spider.

Her parents are too busy to notice that there's this evil carnivorous monster in their daughter's room, instead too stressed about the deadline for their moonlighting gig. And about Heather's mom. And their infant son, who we're told will eat no-less than paper and paint if unsupervised. But the real core of the story is Ethan feeling disconnected from Charlotte, who still misses her real-dad despite having abandoning her and her mom. Scenes go on and on about non-spider stuff, and while well written and well performed, means we sit in a dark theater wondering if the reels were swapped mid-showing.

Charlotte takes Sting to another resident, some college kid who's using fish to try and cure diabetes (naturally what tertiary characters in these sort of movies do) named Eric (Danny Kim), who tricks her into leaving him with him. He (logically and rightfully) calls her dad, tells him it's dangerous, poisonous, etc., but instead of thinking "this is probably what killed the alcoholic women down the hall," Ethan, stressed about the fact that he was fired from his maintenance gig AND his publisher (or agent, or whoever) passed on his comic book (or something like that), explodes about how the spider could be a danger to her brother.

Family drama existing to an almost unspoken spider plot means characters inhibit a world that, while interesting in its own right, robs the moviegoer of what they came here for: giant spider action. Sting goes from something that could fit in the palm of your hand (scary in its own right) to like four-feet big in the matter of just a couple of scenes, which forces the narrative to become about trying to kill it. Something that, considering the brief ninety one minute runtime, means we don't get to see the damn creature we all came here to see.