Review: COLD STORAGE Unleashes a Gooey Good Time

Can a science fiction thriller about exploding, bile-bloated corpses and intergalactic spores be described as “delightful”? Well, Cold Storage had me grinning like a kiddo on Christmas morning. British filmmaker Jonny Campbell helms this whacked-out fungal horror-comedy written by the prolific David Koepp, adapted from his own novel (of the same name). It’s begging for a bigger budget, with some underwhelming digital effects employed, but that’s hardly a dealbreaker. Koepp’s storytelling bones are solid, and the vibes match outlandish 1990s genre hybrids that go all-in on popcorn entertainment.

Joe Keery stars as Travis “Teacake” Meacham, a low-rent security guard for a swanky self-storage facility. Georgina Campbell plays Naomi Williams, Teacake’s spunky rookie partner with an eye for mischief and danger. Upon investigating an annoying “beep” from behind flimsy drywall, they find remnants of the subterranean military base that was sold off decades earlier. Still in containment is a deadly virus, but not for long. The red lights and dull alarm signal a dangerous breach, which calls ex-bioterrorism operative Robert Quinn (Liam Neeson) back into action. The fate of humanity rests in the hands of an ex-convict, a bored mother, and a decorated Defense Threat Reduction Agency specialist with back problems—not exactly the A-Team.

Jonny Campbell has a ball leaning into the ick and mayhem of Cold Storage, like a biohazard house of horrors. All the tenets of contagion nightmares are present, but with a healthy tongue-in-cheek tone. We’re supposed to laugh at the gruesome bits, harkening back to reanimated cats in Re-Animator or classified operation follies à la The Return of the Living Dead. There’s also a ferocious Left 4 Dead-ness to certain vomitron characteristics that’s sopping wet with grossness, with an emphasis on flesh-sack decompositions at an alarmingly sped-up rate. It’s part American lampoon, part in-your-face body horror frightener—but always an enjoyable ride.

The cast devours Koepp’s screenplay, finding humor in death and destruction. It all starts with Keery and Georgina Campbell, our flabbergasted proxies. Goof-offs and sly flirtations give way to survival nuttiness as Teacake and Naomi are called upon to become unlikely heroes. Neeson gets to play the grizzled “told ya so” type with a bit of yuck-it-up dialogue, forming a quick bond with his longtime partner, Lesley Manville’s unflappable and lovably instigative Trinny Romano. And then there are the bit parts filled out by capable character actors like Richard Brake’s sleazy commander in charge, or Sosie Bacon’s contract scientist, Dr. Hero Martins (the name’ll make sense once you watch, lol).

However, an overuse of post-production animation holds Cold Storage back. Most prominently, the PETA-approved use of pixelated wildlife that becomes infected by the film’s puke-and-rage fungus. Mutant deer with pulsating goo-boils and patches of snotty slime look mediocre at best, as well as green-screen elements of a bald biker whose head is cracked in half. It’s a shame, because nasty, practical cadaver designs show what could be accomplished throughout, but the means aren’t available. As is, Jonny Campbell achieves his narrative goals by relying on whatever effects methods are available—success at a price.

There are also a few wonky plot beats in Cold Storage, if you’re a stickler for grounded realism. At one point, Keery’s protagonist takes a bullet to his arm, but it might as well have magically healed minutes later. Koepp values tension in moments versus impenetrable plot armor. The writer brags about how well-researched his doomsday fungus is and how such a scenario could threaten humankind, but tiny details here and there feel unintentionally thrown away.

That said, Cold Storage is an infectious blast of squirm-in-your-seat outbreak horrors. Flaws in execution stem from production shortcomings, never faulty performances or an out-of-touch screenplay. It’s got a little something for everyone: workplace romance, repulsive bodily juices, ticking clock intensity, and a serviceable kill count. Campbell’s ode to little guys versus alien odds flicks like 88’s The Blob or 85’s The Stuff is ultimately a winner: a raucous party-horror flick that’ll be a hit with group watches.

Movie Score: 3.5/5