My dear readers, as the temperature steadily increases and the blooms of spring begin to make themselves known, I cannot help but ponder all the cheery gatherings that are soon to take place. I simply cannot escape the feeling that it will be a season of some merriment. All this dawning delight puts me in the mind of Orin Hauntedhouse, a distant relative of mine who found himself an enduring symbol of jocularity. I am told that old Orin could be somewhat brusque in his mannerisms and it is this quality that leads to a strong disagreement with some sort of itinerant character. Their quarrel grew so severe that Orin found himself the recipient of a good old proper curse, one that permanently stretched his face into an unnatural grin. The townspeople did not adapt to his new condition as kindly as one might have hoped. While a number of children and a few adults found his countenance uncomfortable, others saw this perpetual smile on a notably sour individual to be a source of unending amusement. I understand much fun was had at his expense until a fire broke out in the coal mines and his frantic attempts to warn his neighbors were drowned out by the din of their laughter. 

Megan (Rachel Loiselle) is also familiar with struggling to be taken seriously. She is soon to begin work as a park ranger, and her boyfriend Ray (Tim Lovelace) has offered to escort her to this new professional opportunity. The pair of them are having quite the jolly little journey until their automobile collides with a rather largish creature. Vehicular impact does not produce the most ideal of specimens but Megan is still able to determine that they have hit a species of insect, making note of its handsome proboscis and the like. While this is all very exciting for a student of entomology, Ray is less enthused, as the accident has rendered their mode of transport inoperable.

Remaining in the area allows Megan to voice her findings to several local characters, but initially no one is willing to entertain the notion of an insect big enough to damage an automobile. It is not until they encounter Parks (Steve Dixon), a fellow person of science, that Megan is able to make any headway with promoting her discoveries. Parks is on the hunt for a meteorite that has crashed nearby and after a series of mutilated bodies provide them with much needed empirical data, he and Megan propose that mosquitoes have been feeding off of an extraterrestrial. It is a theory that would account for the unearthly proportions of the first specimen, and one that is quickly proved correct by a sizable swarm that threatens to exsanguinate the lot of them. Their attempts to outpace this frisky batch of Aedes aegypti are further complicated by a trio of outlaws led by Earl (Gunnar Hansen), whose selfish attitude towards creature crisis management provides much difficulty for all parties involved.

While my use of a “digital” format for this publication may suggest a forward-thinking mindset and an affinity for all things contemporary, I must confess that I am often won over by qualities that others might find a bit antiquated. Perhaps it is for this reason that I find myself so attracted to Gary Jones’ Mosquito. Though produced in the early 1990s, it reflects an attitude more common to films of a greater vintage. Computing technology had made a number of novel effects available but Mr. Jones clearly insisted on a more artisanal approach and his mosquito marionettes possess all the rubbery charisma of creatures from much older features. At the risk of sounding a bit out of touch, I believe that when it comes to bloodsucking beasties who burst mens’ eyeballs with the sheer pressure of their feeding, a bit of good old-fashioned craftsmanship can steer one towards a positive result. Certainly, I do not advocate digging in one’s heels and refusing all forward progress. But every once in a while, the vintage charms of handcrafted hematophagy can be a soothing retreat from the clamor of more modern monsters. 

Mosquito runs 92 minutes and is rated R for sci-fi violence, gore, a scene of sexuality or nudity and for some language.