Scott Walker’s The Tank possesses many of the ingredients for an effective creature feature, but unfortunately that’s because the writer-director’s second film borrows heavily from a well-worn horror formula. Young family exploring a creepy new living space? Check. Long-dormant monster awakened and lurking in the shadows? Yep. Casualties to thinly sketched, newly introduced characters? You better believe it. And all of that comes with a harrowing backstory told through a diary conveniently left behind in a cabin in the woods.
One slight tweak to the formula is the cabin’s location, situated as it is along a beautiful stretch of the Oregon coast. While the nearby ocean plays no direct role in the existence of the creatures skulking in the dark, water certainly does. The tank of the film’s title is a large rainwater cistern that married couple Jules and Ben (Luciane Buchanan and Matt Whelan, respectively) discover near the cabin situated on the sprawling land that Ben has unexpectedly inherited from his secretive mother, who—wait for it—struggled with mental illness. Despite the fact that it’s covered in vines and lacks electricity and running water, the couple and their seven-year-old daughter, Reia (Zara Nausbaum), decide to spend a few nights in the cabin to spruce things up.
Soon, Ben is fumbling around in the newly discovered underground tank, searching for a valve to restore water to the cabin’s taps. He also finds the remains of some kind of aquatic creature, about the size of a trout. Jules, who happens to run a pet store, identifies it as ancient and amphibious and, more concerningly, recognizes that it’s likely the undeveloped offspring of a much larger organism. Then there’s the matter of Reia getting creeped out at night by something trying to make its way into her room.
There are other disturbances at night, which Ben tries to explain away as raccoon activity, but Jules feels like all is not right. By the time a local real estate agent named Merial (Ascia Maybury) stops by to relay a gargantuan, unsolicited offer for this seemingly pristine stretch of private coast, things briefly appear to be looking up for Ben and Jules—not so much for Merial when she attempts to walk back to the road through the woods at night. And right on cue, after some back-and-forth about whether to stay another night at the cabin, all hell breaks loose in the third act.
By setting his film in the ‘70s, Walker can at least sidestep the no cell phone service trope, but in doing so the film also falls into the retro horror approach so common these days. When the creatures finally emerge, their appearance—think The Descent meets “Stranger Things”—doesn’t do much to differentiate this film from so many others like it. The monsters also move a bit more stiffly than they probably should, likely a result of the film’s low budget.
Nevertheless, the creature design is only one aspect of The Tank that prevents it from leaving any sort of distinctive mark. Despite crisp cinematography and some intermittently compelling atmosphere, it suffers from both a flimsy story and lackluster performances. Jules and Ben don’t have much authentic chemistry, and they aren’t helped by the bland writing. The film’s score also feels wildly misplaced, with overly dramatic swells periodically accompanying relatively mundane images, seemingly attempting to create a tension which is often absent from the screen. By largely just mimicking better horror movies, The Tank feels hopelessly watered-down.
Photo courtesy of Well Go USA
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