There is a long discredited theory known as “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny” which posits that an organism’s development in the womb or egg (ie, ontogeny) reenacts the development of its species (phylogeny). In other words, it is a theory developed to account for how creatures start out single-cell, then eventually look like newts, wombats or other genetic descendants and finally attain their final species form, be that platypus, snake or human.
This may be an abstruse way of saying that this multipart film, essentially four stories all connected to a person-sized frog monster, recapitulates horror film phylogeny as it goes along the way. The first section, set in 1969, throws back to Rosemary’s Baby as commune member Lilith (Ali Chappell, also this section’s director) is impregnated by the Frog God while he assumes the form of her commune’s guru (James Gilbert). It’s all trippy pseudo psychedelics, with an actor dressed in a giant latex and slime costume copulating with Lilith, like the devil making the beast with two backs with Mia Farrow.
The next chapter moves along the horror evolutionary continuum to a 1990s setting, a time when slasher films ruled the roost. Lilith’s daughter Eve (Ilana Haley) has grown up to become a biology grad student specialising in amphibians; she ends up being one of only two survivors of a film-making crew (got to get in that oh-so-90s self-referential stuff) who encounter our ranine antagonist back in the Florida swamps where we started.
The third section, set roughly in the present, revolves around a corrupt businessman (Christian Lloyd) and his wayward son (Corteon Moore) that’s all modish therapy-speak about closure and stuff. The last segment goes full-on future dystopia in 2044, like an Alien film but on a vastly smaller budget. There’s a corresponding phylogenic evolution of film stock so that we start with what looks like poor 16mm and graduate to high definition, but clearly the budget never stretched much further than physical effects for the monster.
The whole shebang is patently silly, and the big gestural acting indicates that the cast knows that very well, but everyone seems to be having fun so it’s hard to get too mad at the result.
• God of Frogs is on digital platforms from 2 March.
