ou’re fresh blood for our fun and games.” Clint Crockett (Adam Roarke) and his sister Karen (Joan Van Ark) are having a few too many drinks while careening around in their speedboat, resulting in a careless collision with freelance wildlife (and ecology) photographer Pickett Smith (a rare, mustache-less Sam Elliott), whose recent snaps document a great amount of pollution and poisons in the surrounding waters (shot in Florida). To make up for the loss of Pickett’s canoe and equipment, the Crocketts invite him to lunch at their massive estate on their crotchety father Jason’s (Ray Milland) private island, where a family gathering brings together a large assortment of eccentric characters.

The setup is weirdly like “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” though the Crockett clan isn’t nearly as creepy or disconcerting. Yet Smith is out of his element amid the bunch, who begin complaining about the overabundance of frogs that have amassed on the grounds around the lake. Pickett agrees to survey the area to determine whether or not the amount of amphibians hopping about are unusual, as well as to locate a missing employee, Grover, who left early in the morning to spray for mosquitos and other pests. And when he finds the munched-on corpse, it’s evident that the Crocketts are vastly outnumbered by the encroaching, ravenous bullfrogs steadily swarming the property.

“What about the body?” Amusingly, there are quite a lot of supporting players here that serve as nothing other than fodder for the frogs. No one is fleshed out particularly well, which means that virtually anyone could be the next to be consumed – and the order doesn’t matter much. As the assemblage socializes and chats, shedding bits of light on what has influenced the rise of the killer critters (alongside building up a silly romance and a love triangle), conversations begin to resemble stalling tactics to stretch out a woefully flimsy plot. Plus, all the shots of various animals add to the sense that the runtime is being deliberately padded.

“What if nature were trying to get back at us?” Like Hitchcock’s “The Birds,” as well as all the other filmic derivations on the theme of nature run amok (or getting revenge on destructive humans), “Frogs” isn’t too complicated. Characters struggle to come to terms with the invasive species – and get mauled or devoured in the process. Unlike in smarter takes, however, this particular adventure doesn’t cut to the chase (or present episodes of unease) quick enough; despite all the unwilling frog and snake actors, it’s nearly 45 minutes before the first onscreen attack. And with all the fake tarantulas (and real ones that don’t really interact with the victim) it’s practically comical instead of frightening.

“Something terrible is happening!” Once again, when a band of lizards plots a devious murder by asphyxiation; or when relative Iris Martindale (Holly Irving) wanders into the forest to catch a butterfly, only to be disarmed by a coordinated ambush by snakes and then leeches; or when a fat frog lunges onto a cake, it’s apparent that sincere attempts at horror end up as hilariously goofy, laughable nonsense. Some scenes even come across as straight comedy. With very few moments that actually work (the use of electronic sound effects as opposed to regular music doesn’t help), “Frogs” is an unfortunately unstimulating exercise in a stale idea with pitiful execution on a paltry budget.

– Mike Massie