Q (a.k.a. The Winged Serpent) (1982)

Directed and produced by Larry Cohen

A series of gruesome and inexplicable deaths in New York City, being investigated by a couple of detectives (David Carradine, Richard Roundtree), is linked to another series of gruesome and only slightly less inexplicable killings. It soon emerges that a giant winged serpent is flying about town, plucking people from roof-tops and construction sites, aided by a crazed would-be Aztec priest. In the middle of it all is a small time crook and piano-player (Michael Moriarty), who may hold the key to ending the killing spree.

I think I should preface my critique of this film by writing that of all the movies I’ve reviewed on this blog, Q is the worst. It’s true that I have stacked the deck in my favour, as all the films I watch are chosen with my personal enjoyment in mind, so I never select one thinking it will be abysmal; some I suspect may be stinkers (but am often pleasantly surprised), while of many others I have no notion beforehand. Q, I thought, might be fun. It was not.

I do enjoy a good monster movie – and I do mean ‘good’: 20 Million Miles to Earth, The Thing (the original version), and the like; even when they are bad, they can be entertaining. Q is a chore to watch. Story need not be a large component of the enjoyment of such films, but it should at least be a part of them. The inclusion of the maniac Aztec priest is a distraction at best. Carradine theorises that the villain “prayed his god into existence”, though this is not followed up, and the monster, despite its size and strength, is very mortal. As well, the hunt for the human killer is treated as a whodunit, though this fact comes as a surprise; the viewer may not have been aware that he should have cared about this element. Holes occupy more of the plot than does coherence. Evidence of this comes at such moments as when a character asks how another character knew where to find him, and the explanation doesn’t answer the question.

The script is ordinary at best. There is not one good line in the dialogue. A movie such as this benefits from a certain levity – not to the extent of creating a comedy, not even a black comedy – but something that fits the setting. The writing is far too lackluster to manage anything more than what might be found from a junior high schooler who fancies himself the class clown.

The acting ranges from non-existent to adequate. There is some entertainment value gleaned from watching Carradine and Moriarty, especially the latter, neither of whose acting style seems to involve following either script or direction. There is an abundance of under- and over-acting, and Roundtree in particular must have thought this a terrible drop in his career after his popularity and acclaim in Shaft. He thoroughly deserves any disappointment the viewer may feel, however, as his performance, displaying only scorn and anger, is embarrassing.

The direction is amateurish, though, to be honest, it appears from the results as if no one paid any attention to the director. Scenes go on too long, have little in connection with those before and after, are cut short, and are nonsensical. To be fair, some of this problem may come from the editing. But when the director may have had an influence on events, that influence is baleful. An example may be when a policeman, disguised as a mime-faced street-juggler (that’s right…), shows wonder and delight at seeing the monster for the first time, only to express sadness – not horror – when it carries off a colleague. There is no tension or excitement at any point, a kindergarten class’s rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” constituting edge-of-the-seat thrills when compared to Q.

There are aspects of the film for which blame undoubtedly needs to be assigned but the culprit cannot be clearly discerned. People are beheaded by the monster, their bodies left in place; this would be like a human using his teeth to nick a pea from a full dish of salad while driving by at speed. One woman, kidnapped by the creature from a roof-top, is, evidently, eaten by the huge beast, but her skeleton remains intact, not a bone broken. The remains of a victim (a willing victim, we learn) of the priest is found in his hotel-room bed, flayed. Yet, despite the bloody manner of death, there is no blood or gore on the white sheets. The list goes on.

As for the monster itself, it is neither realistic nor frightening. I am a fan of the ‘stop-action’ form of special effect, and probably should not have expected Ray Harryhausen-grade quality from Q. I do think it fair to have anticipated some quality. A comparison of Q with, say, Mighty Joe Young, from thirty-three years before, shows how technology can actually regress – drastically – in the hands of the inexpert. The monster is described repeated as the ‘plumed serpent’ of the Aztecs, yet looks like a plucked chicken; there is more aviarian pathos to the antagonist than reptilian menace.

The one positive element in Q might be the location filming, showing scenes of New York that are convincing and more interesting than what is going on in them – for that matter, the actors look odd and out of place in them. The monster builds its nest in the abandoned top floor of the Chrysler Building. Did not that structure’s owners object to it being shown as a half-destroyed junkyard?

While, in the past, I have stopped watching films in their midst due to their poor quality, the number suffering this fate has been small. I hesitate to do this simply because something in the unviewed portion may prove the movie’s salvation. After all, the climax of a monster flick could offer the excitement and thrills the rest lacked. This is not the case with Q. Almost without a positive note (oh, yes, the music is bad, too; jarring and almost tacky), this film is, as stated in the second paragraph, the worst movie I have reviewed thus far.