In the wake of Jaws’
record-breaking success, endless clones of killer animal films flooded the
cinema. Although there were many thoughtless entries, Lewis Teague's Alligator
is not only a violent satirical masterwork, it is also a surprisingly
progressive provocation against corporate greed and law enforcement corruption.
Building upon a foundation of urban legends, and propelled by a hilarious
script by John Sayles (Lonestar), this is truly a lost cult gem that
deserves a revival.
An alligator is flushed into the sewers of Chicago. After years of
feeding off the corpses of toxic experimental animals, the now 36-foot monster
terrorizes the city and only a disgraced detective and a reptile expert can
stop it. Sayles’ script takes on all comers. The media, the police,
corporations, politicians, and especially the wealthy are all targets while
simultaneously serving as a buffet for the titular creature. Screen icon
Robert Forster stars Detective Madison and his performance is equal parts
tragic and charmingly self-deprecating. Depictions of PTSD within law
enforcement continue to be rare, and Forster's subtle sadness is the perfect
balance to the over-the-top camp that dominates the bulk of the
narrative.
The star, of course, is Ramon, the discarded alligator wreaking havoc on a fallen metropolis. The kills are fun, gory, and in some cases unforgettable. One sequence involving a swimming pool is the stuff of nightmares whilst the alligator's assault on a white-collar wedding is legendary. One interpretation could be that the creature is the personification of the sins of modern American culture, coming home to roost on flesh and blood.
Another interpretation involves Forster's haunted detective and the ghosts of the past that haunt him. His character was part of a botched operation, and as a result he is outcast among the more corrupt elements of the department. Going a step further, Sayles turns to the concept of policing in general. Forster’s romantic interest, portrayed by Robin Riker, zeroes in on this by explaining (via Freud) that "police want to punish society for their own illicit desires". It is possible that the alligator itself is a symbol of the city’s rage and distrust of those who were supposed to be its stewards. This is the first of many details that reveal how before its time this film truly was.
One particularly telling sequence involves legendary character actor Henry Silva's professional hunter Brock. Brock hires a trio of young African American men to act as his "guides" through the urban jungle. While it is clear that Sayles is skewering privilege and the ignorance of wealth and position, the way the situation resolves itself is perhaps one of the most prescient scenes in the history of American cinema: The well-armed, powerful macho archetype is subsequently devoured by the menace, while the poor, disenfranchised youths bear witness.
Unfortunately, the film is difficult to find, and currently does not have a
proper Blu-ray release. Despite being written off as a Jaws carbon
copy, Alligator is a film with a lot on its mind. While the
dialogue can be silly and the effects show their age, this is the type of
studio film that is no longer made. In an age where symbolism and
undercurrent has been eschewed for pure spectacle, this is a film that
demonstrates that both are possible.
--Kyle Jonathan