If you put Paul Rudd and Jack Black in almost anything, you’re halfway to a good time. Add a self-aware script, a meta-commentary on Hollywood's reboot obsession, and a giant snake slithering through the Amazon, and you get the new Anaconda. This film knows exactly what it is, what it isn't, and how far it can stretch a joke before snapping back with a bite. It isn't a straightforward remake of the 1997 creature feature, nor is it a pure parody. Instead, it’s a spoof with teeth—one that mocks Hollywood, celebrates failure, and occasionally remembers it’s also supposed to thrill.
What makes this Anaconda entertaining is its framing device. Rather than retelling a familiar monster story, the film revolves around the making of a new Anaconda movie. The result is a dual-layer narrative that gives the audience both behind-the-scenes chaos and on-camera carnage. An inept director, a failed actor, and a group of lost childhood friends head into the Amazon jungle to reboot their favourite movie, only to discover that some monsters—professional, personal, and literal—are very real.
The plot
Doug McCallister (Jack Black) is exactly the kind of filmmaker Hollywood forgets. Like many wannabe directors who grew up in the 1990s, he wants to be taken seriously, even if his most stable job is shooting wedding videos in Buffalo, New York. Doug has talent, enthusiasm, and a deep love for cinema, but none of that has translated into success. His confidence is fragile, his career stagnant, and his glory days are long behind him.
Enter Ronald Griffen Jr., or “Griff” (Paul Rudd), Doug’s lifelong best friend and creative partner. Griff shows up unannounced at Doug’s birthday party, bringing nostalgia, charm, and bad ideas. A background actor who once dreamed of making it big in Hollywood, Griff is currently on an unofficial sabbatical—otherwise known as being unemployed. He hasn’t given up on fame; he has simply rebranded his lack of work as “time to develop projects.”
Griff arrives with an offer that Doug, despite his better judgement, cannot refuse: let’s remake Anaconda. Never mind that their only previous collaboration, an R-rated school project called The Quatch, was a spectacular failure. Never mind that neither has industry clout, money, or a clear plan. For Griff, the pitch is simple: if they are going to be forgotten, they might as well go down swinging.
Doug reluctantly agrees, and soon the old gang is back together. Kenny and Claire (Steve Zahn and Thandie Newton), friends from their earlier filmmaking days, also sign on. Like Doug and Griff, they are all haunted by the sense that their best years are behind them. Rebooting a childhood favourite feels less like a career move and more like a last stand—a way to be remembered for something, anything, other than fading away.
The group’s optimism peaks when they recruit Santiago (Selton Mello), an eccentric snake handler who claims to own a massive pet snake capable of doubling as their on-screen Anaconda. With minimal funding, questionable legality, and a dangerous level of confidence, the crew heads into the Brazilian Amazon for a three-week shoot meant to put them back on the map.
Naturally, everything that can go wrong does. The pet “Anaconda” is far from safe. Personal secrets begin to surface, unravelling relationships and testing loyalties. Kenny is battling substance abuse issues, while Claire is still emotionally entangled with Griff, complicating both the production and the group dynamic. On the way, they encounter Ana (Daniela Melchior), a mysterious woman on the run who quite literally steals their rented boat and becomes their reluctant guide.
What begins as a scrappy adventure fuelled by nostalgia, cameras, and misplaced confidence spirals into a genuine nightmare. The jungle is unforgiving, the snake is very real, and the line between film-making and survival grows thinner by the minute. Abductions, deaths, and revelations push the film into darker territory, and by the time the real Anaconda makes its presence known, the spoof briefly transforms into something resembling an actual thriller. How it all ties back to The Quatch—and why that matters—is best discovered by taking the ride yourself.
The good
At its best, Anaconda is a sharp satire of Hollywood culture and the people who exist on its fringes. It shines a light on background actors, forgotten directors, and creative professionals whose faces audiences recognise but whose names they never remember. This perspective gives the film an unexpected emotional core.
Paul Rudd and Jack Black are the film’s greatest assets. Rudd, an accomplished and effortlessly likeable actor, plays Griff as a man whose optimism borders on delusion. His portrayal of a failed background actor is quietly devastating; beneath the jokes and charm lies a deep fear of irrelevance. You laugh at Griff, but you also understand him.
Jack Black, meanwhile, does what he does best while still managing to surprise. Doug could have easily been a caricature of the loud, insecure loser, but Black grounds him with sincerity. Even if he has played variations of this character before, he makes you believe that Doug’s disappointment is real and earned. You root for him not because he is exceptional, but because he is painfully human.
Steve Zahn and Thandie Newton are smart additions to the cast. Their own Hollywood trajectories lend extra texture to their roles, blurring the line between actor and character. Running gags—such as Griff’s brief four-episode guest spot on S.W.A.T. or hints about Kenny’s addiction—add layers of humour while making the audience strangely protective of these characters. You know they are unlikely to achieve their dreams, but you want them to try anyway.
Like the original Anaconda, this film has standout moments of tension, particularly when the crew realises that Griff never actually secured the rights to remake the film. Once the real ‘snake’ enters the story, the movie shifts gears entirely. In the chaos that follows—the confusion, the abduction of one crew member, the death of another—you momentarily forget that you are watching a spoof. That tonal shift is risky, but when it works, it works remarkably well.
The bad
The flaws of Anaconda are closely tied to expectations. If you walk in hoping for a straight horror film in the mould of the original, you will be disappointed. If you expect an out-and-out comedy simply because Jack Black and Paul Rudd are involved, you may also feel let down. If you want the film to take itself seriously, you have clearly missed the point.
As one character aptly puts it, “The snake is a metaphor for the monsters that come for all of us if our dreams are left unrealised.” It is a clever line that encapsulates the film’s ambition, but ambition does not always translate into tight storytelling.
At 99 minutes, the film occasionally feels longer than it is. There are too many characters and too many narrative threads competing for attention. Ana and her pursuers, in particular, feel like they belong in an entirely different film. While Daniela Melchior brings intrigue to the role, the subplot ultimately distracts from the core story rather than enriching it.
Some scenes overstay their welcome, including a juvenile gag involving a character being forced to urinate—an obvious candidate for the cutting-room floor. These indulgences slow the pacing, and just before the third act, you may find yourself wishing for a fast-forward button. Ironically, once the climax arrives, you may want to rewind it, as the action is well choreographed and deserves to be savoured.
The antagonist—the Anaconda itself—could have benefited from more screen time and clearer stakes. That said, restraint has its merits. After all, Jaws terrified audiences with minimal shark exposure. Unlike Jaws, however, Anaconda is knowingly playful, and its late arrival into the reboot-and-spoof trend may dampen its impact for some viewers. The cameos from actors associated with the original film are fun but arrive too late to feel truly meaningful. This isn’t a Marvel movie; fan service only goes so far.
Verdict
The newer Anaconda could have been more fun, but that likely would have required a longer runtime—something audiences might have complained about, given that this is a satirical take on a familiar property. Taken on its own terms, it works best as a light, self-aware film powered by actors we genuinely enjoy watching.
It does not aim to redefine cinema or deliver a grand message. Instead, it offers a refreshing break from superhero fatigue and bloated franchises, cheekily casting one of the many actors associated with caped crusaders in a story about creative failure and persistence. In that sense, it feels almost rebellious.
There is also something oddly relatable about the characters’ “let’s just do this” attitude. Their impulsive, passion-driven approach to film-making may even remind some viewers of how films are often made in Pakistan—on instinct, on hope, and sometimes against better judgement. The difference is that while Pakistani cinema survives on this mentality, Hollywood tends to romanticise it, exposing the cultural gap between aspiration and infrastructure.
Anaconda may not satisfy everyone, but for those willing to embrace its uneven tone and self-deprecating humour, it delivers enough laughs, tension, and heart to justify the journey. Like its characters, the film may stumble, but it never completely loses its way—and that, in itself, is worth watching.
All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer
Omair Alavi is a freelance contributor who writes about film, television, and popular culture