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 'Mimic' Is All About The Fear Of Cockroaches By Stacey Richter WE HAD A little roach problem at my house a while back. Seems the critters were freeloading off an unclosed bag of sugar in the cupboard. You'd open the door and see these plump, brown mini-machines madly scrambling to remove themselves from sight. What was unsettling wasn't seeing them run, though; it was the sound of their little legs scratching and scurrying to get away.
Not that Mimic doesn't have its place. It's a B-movie and that's just fine, especially if you're going to rent it or see it at a second-run theater. But after reading fawning reviews in our own daily papers, I've got to take a hard line against the film. Their obsequious praise demands a rebuttal; because really, Mimic is pretty mediocre, even for a B-movie. Mimic has camp appeal, just not enough. Some comes in the form of two tough-talking street kids who make their living as black-market "bug dealers"; and some arrives in the form of a wide-eyed autistic kid whose proficiency at playing spoons allows him to make pals with the clicking roaches. My personal favorite is a line of dialogue delivered by F. Murray Abraham's professor. Sorvino can't believe that the specialized roaches, which she created to kill off other roaches that carried a child-killing disease, have survived and mutated. "They all died in the lab," she cries. Abraham's soft-spokenly paternal response: "But you let them out into the world. The world's a much bigger lab." Well, duh. But most of Mimic's camp lies in its endless supply of slimy goo. Over and over, characters find huge slimy "egg things" hanging off of walls, not unlike the heaping vomit-hut "Tooms" inhabited in the X-Files. Eventually they learn that being covered in slick, rubber-cement like cockroach slime fools the insects, so the entire cast can be seen rubbing roach organs on their faces like athletes in a Gatorade commercial. The people who design goo for a living really hit the motherlode with Mimic, and are probably enjoying a comfy retirement now. It's as if in every other scene director Guillermo Del Toro said, "This isn't scary enough--bring on the goo!" Del Toro's last movie, Chronos, involved a mechanical tick and was genuinely creepy, but he's out of his element here. He becomes overly reliant on stock scare tactics, like using the sudden loud screech of a subway to give us a jolt, or putting characters into ridiculous situations where they're trying to defend themselves with only a switchblade or straight razor. And then there's the goo; I wouldn't be surprised if Del Toro had some sort of investment in the goo market. Covered in slime, Mira Sorvino starts taking on the stringy-haired appearance of a dirty hippie--now we know why Sigourney Weaver shaved her head for Alien3. You can hardly take Sorvino seriously when, like Weaver at the end of Aliens, she becomes powerfully maternal and has a showdown with the Big Daddy roach, who's about to attack a child. ("No you will NOT hurt him! Turn around!") I much prefer Sorvino the dingy prostitute or Sorvino the dippy high-school grad to Sorvino the action hero. Call me a wimp, but something about that combination of words gives me the willies even more than the sound of a cockroach in the cupboard.
Mimic is playing at Century Park (620-0750),
Century Gateway (792-9000), Foothills (742-6174)
and DeAnza Drive-In (745-2240) cinemas.
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Mimic hints at themes about the Kafka-esque relationship
between man and bug, evolution, and the dangers of messing with
Mother Nature, but really it's about our basic revulsion of cockroaches.
Early in the movie, entomologist 
These beginning scenes of Mimic are effective, but imagine
them replayed over and over on an increasingly people-sized scale.
At a certain point, great big cockroaches no longer inspire that
skin-crawling disgust. They become bogeymen, earthly 