Tentacles

Tentacles arrives as another entry in the post-Jaws creature feature sweepstakes, and for two acts, it makes a case for itself. This Italian-American co-production puts John Huston in the role of a reporter investigating mysterious deaths off the California coast, while Bo Hopkins plays the marine expert who fingers the eight-armed killer.

The film opens with a death that breaks the rules. Good. Huston’s distinctive baritone makes exposition-heavy dialogue natural. The supporting cast includes Claude Akins as the local sheriff and Henry Fonda as a business magnate, both cast to type and cashing a paycheck, but welcome nonetheless.

Stelvio Cipriani’s score steals from his own The Great Kidnapping and gets away with it. Dissonant piano builds dread. Jazz punctuates the action. It works.

The underwater photography avoids the cheap studio tank look. When the octopus attacks using real creatures, miniatures, and rear projection, the film shines. One boat attack shot from a wide angle makes you forget you’re watching actors pretend. A point-of-view shot from below deck as the hull cracks and water explodes inward thrills.

But Shelley Winters proves problematic as Huston’s sister. She’s entitled and helpless, and spends much of the film in an inexplicably oversized sombrero. Her character never faces danger. Waste of Winters.

The film’s Italian roots show through extensive off-screen dialogue, designed for easy dubbing. Technical goofs pile up—swimmers keep sneakers on underwater, characters juggle walkie-talkies while sailing—but you forgive them because the suspense holds.

Until it doesn’t.

The third act abandons Huston, Winters, and Fonda for a sequence where Hopkins brings killer whales to fight the octopus. Instead of wide shots, we get Hopkins throwing himself around a cabin to simulate tentacle attacks. Then he gets trapped in an underwater avalanche. (How?) His whale friends rescue him.

Imagine Jaws ending with Quint’s pet dolphins attacking the shark.

Tentacles builds genuine suspense, then throws it away for an overlong finale that feels imported from a different movie. Picture Winters yanked backward into the ocean by a tentacle or Huston firing a harpoon through the creature’s eye. That would have been something.

Instead, we get whales versus octopus. Nature documentary meets Free Willy. The film promises a spectacle it never delivers.

Two stars. The first hour deserves three. The last act deserves zero.