It’s not ripped from the headlines, but Tyler Cornack’s comedy “Mermaid” certainly seems inspired by them — specifically, the strange “Florida Man” news stories that have become a meme-friendly internet fixation.
In the midst of a “Jaws” parody opening centered on a monstrous murder at sea, the film takes a pause for a title card labeling the story as “a love letter to Florida.” But the drug-addled shenanigans that follow strive for more than gawking spectacle. Though assembled from zany fixtures, like a strip club-based mafia and a man-eating fish creature, Cornack’s filmmaking is defined by a disarming soulfulness, marinading in the melancholy of its slacker hero. It makes for a punishing, self-imposed mood of aggrievement, which seems alien and uninformed by the film’s genre-fawning endgame.
Though “Mermaid” doesn’t take long after its opening to arrive at the awkward Doug (Johnny Pemberton), you’d be forgiven if it takes a beat to register his plight. It would probably take Doug a while too. First introduced as he’s getting fired from his nightclub job — maintaining an absurd, gargantuan fish tank that the joint’s owner has deemed a bad investment — Doug seems to take the bad news in sloth-like acceptance. The haze is a symptom of his Percocet addiction, which has stilted his relationships with his grade-school-aged daughter (Devyn McDowell) and ex-partner (Nancy McCrumb).
This opening act sets a lackadaisical pace that “Mermaid” maintains, even as it arrives at its marquee star. Discovering a fang-baring fish-woman (Avery Potemri, a movement artist playing an impressive special effect), Doug tranquilizes the creature and houses it in his bathroom, rejuvenated by his newfound purpose.
So begins a one-sided romance — hardly the bleeding-heart love story that other creature features like “The Shape of Water” have gone for. The mermaid of “Mermaid” is no fairy tale; it is a hideous, scaly animal that vomits up ink-blank bile and cries throaty screeches when its dose of downers wears off. Doug’s affinity is pure, but it is not permissible. Cornack sees no import to the relationship beyond how it informs his protagonist’s pathetic lifestyle. Similarly, the first half of “Mermaid” isn’t played for suspense at all, despite its central monster. Most scenes unfold in broad daylight, where the creature can be plainly seen for what it is.
Cornack’s direction is rough around the edges, but he’s proven to be a filmmaker worth attention. His debut feature “Butt Boy” was named the best feature of 2020 by John Waters. That comedy, about a father who becomes a serial killer that sucks victims into his rectum, also plumbed an unserious premise for droll laughs and modest surprises. But while “Mermaid” has similar aims, the execution isn’t outrageous enough to be truly memorable.
Part of that is Doug, who is too pitiable to make a compelling center. Pemberton shows good comic timing when called upon and his performance keeps an admirable patience. “Mermaid” plays like the story of a man rousing from slumber, coming into consciousness. What the character arrives at though is violent retribution, which feels like an unimaginative acquiescence to familiar pulp storytelling.
Better deployed are the cast of veteran actors Cornack has attracted for his third feature. It’s worth double-checking, but it’s a touch moving that someone finally thought that Tom Arnold would be a fun cameo to kill off in the cold open of a movie. Robert Patrick and Kevin Dunn make for entertaining, droning adversaries, both playing boat-owning criminals bored by their success. And Kevin Nealon has never been as refreshing, or as underutilized, as he is here, playing the affable new beau to Doug’s ex — the moneyed but equally dim foil to the film’s hero.
While Doug’s own arc seems grafted on, it’s these side characters that better evoke Cornack’s proud portrait of his home state: a sun-stroked fantasy floating along an ambient pulse of yacht rock and club beats. The mermaid is meant to disrupt that ecosystem and destabilize its inhabitants, but there comes a point when Cornack’s film suffers from organizing a climax around its ornamental creature. The more heart-breaking Floridian peripheries all but fade from view.
