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Anaconda (2025): A Movie About Making Movies (and Loving the Bad Ones)

By. Professor Horror

 

The cold opening of ANACONDA (2025) wastes no time setting expectations…and then gleefully shedding its own skin. The film opens with two terrified figures trapped in a jeep in the Amazon rainforest, surrounded by unseen danger as rival pursuers close in. The tension escalates into a full chase sequence, complete with frantic movement, dangerous terrain, and the sudden appearance of a massive anaconda sliding through the water like nature’s worst jump scare. For a moment, it feels like we’re watching a straightforward, action-heavy survival thriller. Then the movie pulls the rug out from under us and cuts to Jack Black. This tonal snap immediately signals that ANACONDA isn’t here to play it straight…it’s here to coil around expectations and squeeze out something sillier, warmer, and far more self-aware. This immediate bait-and-switch is crucial, because it establishes the film’s central joke: ANACONDA knows exactly what kind of movie audiences expect, and it takes pleasure in undercutting that expectation at every turn. Rather than treating genre as a rulebook, the film treats it as a playground: one where danger, nostalgia, and absurdity can all coexist without apology.

Black plays Doug, a passionate movie lover narrating his elaborate storyboard as he pitches his grand cinematic vision to a deeply unimpressed audience. His enthusiasm far outweighs the patience of the room, and the joke lands not because the pitch is bad, but because it’s too much. The scene then cuts to the other side of the country where we meet Paul Rudd as Griff, an actor who currently splits his time between bit roles and working at Lowe’s, but he is proudly credited as “Doctor #3.” Griff desperately wants to take his craft seriously, even when the world insists on keeping him in the background. Both men are stuck in B-level lives, feeling creatively stalled and professionally ignored. What unites them is a deep, sincere love of movies and the quiet hope that somehow, someday, they’ll finally get their shot. It’s a surprisingly tender setup for a movie about a giant snake eating people. That tenderness is not incidental because it’s the emotional engine of the film. By grounding its comedy in disappointment, longing, and creative burnout, ANACONDA gives its characters something real to latch onto, making the ridiculous premise feel earned rather than thrown together for cheap laughs.

That tenderness only deepens when Griff rediscovers and gifts Doug an old VHS tape they made as kids with their friends Claire (Thandiwe Newton) and Kenny (Steve Zahn). The tape contains a truly terrible (but deeply endearing) Bigfoot movie they shot when they were thirteen, the kind of project fueled entirely by imagination, friendship, and absolutely no technical skill. The film radiates affection for that experience, and anyone who ever made backyard movies with friends will feel the sudden urge to dig through their parents’ garage in search of lost tapes. These scenes aren’t mocking amateur filmmaking, but they’re celebrating it. ANACONDA understands that loving movies often starts with making bad ones. That emotional core is crucial, because it reframes everything that follows not as parody, but as tribute. This affection for failure-for-the-sake-of-fun is what ultimately separates ANACONDA from the cynical meta-comedies it seems to be compared to. The joke isn’t that these characters are foolish for loving bad movies…the joke is that everyone else forgot why loving movies ever mattered in the first place.

While reconnecting, the friend group reminisces about another formative cinematic experience: the 1997 cult classic Anaconda. They remember loving it, quoting it, and fully acknowledging that it was, by most standards, not very good. But that’s exactly the point. Quoting a bad movie is fun…but remaking it? That’s the dream. Stuck in various forms of midlife dissatisfaction, Doug, Griff, Claire, and Kenny impulsively decide to secure the rights and head to the Amazon themselves. This is where ANACONDA reveals its true thesis: it’s not just a reboot, reimagining, or spiritual sequel…it’s a movie about remaking a movie that didn’t quite work the first time. It’s a story about the audacity of thinking, “We could do this better… or at least have fun trying.” The film’s self-awareness never veers into smugness, largely because it understands that failure is part of the creative process. ANACONDA isn’t interested in fixing the original so much as it is honoring the impulse behind it: the joy of swinging big, even when the result is messy.

In an era where studios endlessly remake films that were already perfect, ANACONDA makes a surprisingly sharp argument for why B-movies deserve second chances. Why remake something that already worked when you could revisit something that almost did? We didn’t need another Wonka when Gene Wilder already nailed it, but a messy creature feature with unrealized potential? That’s fertile ground. ANACONDA is deeply aware of this logic and builds its entire identity around it. This isn’t just a reboot, but it’s a movie about loving bad movies, talking about bad movies, and understanding why they matter. It’s cinematic snake-eating-its-own-tail nonsense, and that’s exactly why it works. Rather than pretending to elevate its source material, the film proudly sits alongside it, arguing that cultural memory is built just as much on flawed favorites as it is on masterpieces.

Once the group arrives in Brazil, the film fully embraces its chaotic charm. They meet Santiago (Selton Mello), a snake handler with questionable tactics, and his beloved serpent Heitor. Despite sharing the screen with comedy heavyweights like Black, Rudd, and Zahn, Mello consistently slithers away with every scene. His bizarre energy, unpredictable delivery, and genuinely snake-y ways make him the MVP of the film. The setup becomes delightfully absurd: four nostalgic friends, a fleeing criminal (Daniela Melchior), a snake handler, and one very large snake drifting down the Amazon. It’s the kind of premise that dreams (and late-night cable classics) are made of. But this is a tale of two snakes, and the second one is much, much bigger. These sequences lean hard into physical comedy and tonal excess, allowing the film to stretch its premise just far enough without snapping under the weight of its own ambition.

The film does briefly lose momentum in the middle, weighed down by too many storylines wriggling for attention at once. The pacing slows, and the humor occasionally gets tangled in its own coils. But once the movie returns to its core (people desperately trying not to become snake food) it snaps back into place. The comedic timing sharpens, the action becomes playfully absurd, and even the music joins in on the joke. This isn’t a film trying to outdo the original Anaconda, but it’s trying to have a good time with it. Go in expecting fun, not fidelity. That distinction matters, because disappointment only comes from misplaced expectations. ANACONDA isn’t asking to be taken seriously…it’s asking to be enjoyed.

You don’t need to see the 1997 film to enjoy ANACONDA (2025), though longtime fans will appreciate the easter eggs and cameos scattered throughout. This is not a horror movie…it’s a comedy about a horror movie. And while it’s not the greatest movie in the world, no. This is just a tribute. Critics who complain that it’s silly, uneven, or unnecessary are missing the point entirely. Some movies aren’t meant to be dissected, but they’re meant to be enjoyed. And ANACONDA knows it’s ridiculous, never pretends otherwise, and is far funnier because of it.

Anaconda opens in theaters December 25, 2025 and tickets are already on sale now at local cinemas nationwide.