Well, we do get to see a sustained shot of the lake once, during the closing credits, as the backdrop for yet one more scene of nudity.  I mean, after all, how can the filmmakers resist showing the audience this example of stunning, natural beauty in all its wonder?  Remember—I’m still talking about the lake here.  Don’t let your mind wander.  Don’t focus too much on the female leads toplessly communing with these pristine waters, or think too much about what they’re doing.  Is this an occult ritual that may just happen to include some casual making out by the time it’s over—or vice versa?  No, don’t worry, this isn’t the only time you’ll be confused during the movie.

Make no mistake, Wicked Lake plays the sex card early and often—starting with the matter-of-fact opening shot of Robin Sydney posing in the raw for art students.  One of these students happens to be the talented Marc Senter, who for a while tries out his best Crispin Glover imitation and does all he can to keep the film afloat through sheer demented inventiveness.  In fact, the opening title sequence, which tracks him backwards in full breakdown mode as he flees weeping along suburban streets, is as interesting as the end credits aren’t.  And in a sense those two bookends go a long way towards describing the downward arc of creativity and engagement that Wicked Lake provides.

  Senter’s character, with his mincing little steps and a wardrobe that makes Hello Kitty look butch, starts as the main character and far too quickly gets demoted to comic relief.

Indeed, his early scenes with Sydney, which reunite the two stars of the far more memorable and accomplished The Lost, definitely hold some promise.  Is Sydney the girl next door who just happens to opt for nude modeling as a way to pay the rent?  Or is she the lowkey temptress who off-handedly allows Senter to fondle her on her doorstep a few minutes after they meet?  Or, actually, is she both—good girl and bad girl and it’s only the hang-ups of the male characters (read:  viewers) that prevent them from seeing her clearly in all her glorious complexity?

Ah, but that’s kind of the point of this throwback to classic “female empowerment” revenge flicks.  The bottom line is that she’s nice unless you get on her bad side and then she is apt to start snarling like a hyena with indigestion.  Same goes for her three roommates and traveling companions.  A decent premise all around, both in dramatic and thematic terms:  take the typical survivor thriller and hang it upside down by granting hitherto unrevealed powers to the erstwhile victims.

But it’s a premise that’s hamstrung by an uninspired, practically connect-the-dots execution in both script and direction; it’s as if the narrative is propelled by collisions with ideas and elements from other films rather than through the organic interaction of characters, setting, and situation.  So although made by folks who clearly know the genre but who haven’t figured out how to walk the fine line between winking, retro-laden black comedy and a full-on terror assault (and I don’t blame them—that’s a tall order), Wicked Lake has to rank as one of the biggest disappointments in horror for me this year.