Three years following the passing of her grandparents, a young woman (who looks like what I’d imagine an elderly producer would think when he hears the term “real hip chickadee”) inherits their small island home in New York’s Thousand Islands area. Samantha awkwardly kills time as she seems completely underprepared for her new living situation but it also doesn’t help that her behavior appears to be under the guiding hand of a writer who has only experienced human actions from barely-remembered sitcoms. After she cruises around a bit in her boat while guitar strumming plays on the soundtrack, she meets some creeper who claims he does boat repair. He looks like every New Yorker you’ve ever seen who works in the kitchen of a greasy pizza joint but since it’s the islands, he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt over his stained undershirt. His name is Mort and I don’t think there has ever been a more synchronous bond of man and name in the history of low-budget horror shot in the Thousand Islands area of New York. Creepy dudes aside, Samantha starts getting freaked out when she hears some strange things on her supposedly vacant property. Maybe. She may also be severely constipated… it’s a little hard to tell. As she investigates (or maybe looks for a laxative) she catches a boat heading away from her home. Now she’s really spooked. The next day she speaks to the sheriff (he’s the one that found her nana and papa’s corpses) and he’s able to slightly convince her that there’s nothing to worry about when it comes to late night visitors on the water. Even if said visitor is the large local named Michael, who definitely had the same acting coach as Samantha and looks like he’d be the janitor at the pizza place Mort works in. I really wouldn’t eat any of those slices. More creepiness (or possible constipation) plays out as Samantha meanders around, looking twelve and fifty at the same time and performing normal human tasks (conversations, drinking coffee, breathing) like it’s causing her great distress. A box with worms is left on her dock, Michael’s boat is found abandoned near her house, the sheriff thinks she may have rubbed somebody the wrong way (he’s also a total dick about it), locals watch her with mistrust (or maybe, they too, are having problem BMs), a mute woman hangs around in the background, Mort neglects the idea of “sleeves”, there’s a significance when it comes to wolves, Mort attempts to be helpful (and fails), the mute woman has a cryptic warning (written out, of course) before vanishing (kinda) and Samantha insists on ignoring reason and standing her ground… which leads to some hilarious action. Usually, when films can’t rely on strong performances or an interesting script, they’ll provide some thrills and splatter to keep things chugging along. Devil’s Island makes the bold choice of being completely content in offering nothing and saying “fuck you!” for expecting any different. For some reason, I can really respect that. It’s bad but it’s the surreal kind of bad that’s begrudgingly entertaining. So piss and moan all you want, I’m kind of a fan. My mom recommended this to me and now I’m thinking I may have forgotten her birthday. Not because I’m busy or anything, because I’m a horrible son.
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