This entertaining - though rarely intentionally so - horror film from some callow disciple of Wes Craven takes in a few surprisingly lengthy takes during its speedy descent into utter lunacy, writes Donald Clarke
How the cast managed to survive for up to 20 seconds at a time without bursting into gales of laughter is beyond me.
The picture sends five annoying college students to a remote island to be terrorised by, of all things, a pack of genetically mutated dogs. These are not particularly big dogs, you understand. Nor can they fly or fire assault rifles. But they have gained an aptitude for reasoned thought at least the equal of that possessed by the average callow disciple of Wes Craven.
The film's high point comes when, after chewing through the rope binding the gang's seaplane to the shore, the beasts arrange themselves on the wings of the vehicle and stare benignly back at their potential prey. "Look at us," they don't quite bark. "Before long we will be playing cards and smoking cigars like the mutts in that painting your granddad owned."
The Breed does demonstrate some awareness of its own nonsensicality. Echoing similar moments in Craven's Scream, the film's only black character jokes that, being more dispensable than the girl in the bikini or the resourceful hero, he is unlikely to return from an ill-advised trip to the dark basement. But the picture never quite decides whether it is a comedic horror film or a horrific comedy.
When, for example, one of the party gets bitten by a dog and starts to behave aggressively, the happy possibility that - like Tim Allen in another film - she might soon begin sniffing crotches and chasing fire engines announces itself with some force. Sadly, it is not to be.
