‘Ghost Ship’: Where’s a torpedo when you need it?

Well, if you’ve seen one half-witted, low-brow horror film, you’ve

seen them all. And if you’ve read one half-witted, low-brow review of

said films, you’ve not only read them all, but most certainly read

them all here.

The latest of said reviews involves “Ghost Ship,” a rated-R sinker

from director Steve Beck.

It’s a few decades back. John F. Kennedy is still alive, and we’ve

got a devil in a red dress singing torch songs to the tuxedo- and

silk-clad glitterati schlepping about the dance floor of some Italian

luxury liner that should have been christened the “Itsa Stoopida.”

Even intellectual loose-change like you know something bad is

gonna happen, because, well, this is horror film. And a few seconds

later, something bad does happen. A cable snaps across the ballroom

and faster than you can say “Benihana,” everyone is cut to pieces

like vegetables in a Ginzu knife commercial.

Flash forward to the present day. On shore leave in a bar at a

table sit the crew members of the salvage vessel “Arctic Warrior.”

Kinda drunk but not yet disorderly, they’re approached by an Air

Force pilot who says he’s seen a mysteriously abandoned Italian

passenger ship hanging around the Bering Strait, rusting faster than

a ’72 Pinto.

For a cut of the action, the pilot will lead this compendium of

stooges, whose thought processes are nearly as shallow as the Santa

Ana River in July, to the promised land of salvage riches and

contrived plot devices.

And quite the collection of flapdoodles they are. You’ve got Capt.

Murphy (Gabriel Byrne), who’s obviously watched Robert Shaw in “Jaws”

way too many times. Spinning sea yarns like Rumplestiltskin did

straw, the captain’s tales turned not to gold, but lead.

And then there’s the obligatory female team leader, Epps (Julianna

Margulies). She’s tougher than overcooked steak while being ably

assisted by the Professor and Mary Ann. Oops, sorry, wrong boat.

She’s assisted by the usual politically correct crew of whites,

blacks and Hispanics.

It’s a horror film, so they’re all dead anyhow. Except one. So

you, the poor viewer, attempt to entertain yourself for the balance

of this waste of celluloid trying to figure out who will be the first

to croak, and who the lone survivor will be.

After a few days voyage, the Arctic Warrior finally saddles up to

the ghost ship, the Antonia Graza. The Mary Celeste, Edmund

Fitzgerald or even the Flying Dutchman it ain’t. What it is, however,

is a bad matte painting on a set that looked like it was populated

with leftovers from “The Abyss.”

Well, let’s see. The Antonia Graza disappeared off Labrador

(that’s the Atlantic for you geographically impaired). It’s been

found in the Bering Sea (that’s the Pacific for you geographically

more impaired). How did it get there without crew or means of

locomotion? The real question is, who cares? It’s only a movie, and a

really bad one at that.

Meanwhile, Capt. Murphy and the rest of his mentally challenged

yahoos clamber aboard the Antonia Graza only to encounter a mess not

unlike that found in a teenager’s room -- dirty clothes, really old

food and messy floors. Oh, and the occasional evil spirit or two or

three.

The Antonia Graza is nothing more than a floating version of your

garden-variety haunted house. Doors open. Doors slam. Blood oozes

from old bullet holes. The ship’s compass doesn’t work. Random

objects move, well, randomly. Apparitions appear in mirrors, in

halls, in camera. Yawns appear from the viewing audience.

But there’s gold in them thar holds of the Antonia Graza, and our

greedy but doomed salvage crew is determined to make off with the few

hundred million or so aboard ship. The evil spirits on board have

other ideas, and off we go as the ghouls, ghosts, poltergeists and

generally bad special effects vie to keep us, the viewing audience,

awake and alert for the remaining 45 or so minutes of this dog.

“Ghost Ship”: Where’s a torpedo or a mine when you need one?

“Ghost Ship” is rated R for strong violence, gore, language and

sexuality.

* UNCLE DON reviews B-movies and cheesy musical acts for the

Daily Pilot. He may be reached by e-mail at ReallyBadWriting@aol.com.