I used to believe I'd happily watch any old crap if it was connected to the Lovecraft mythos. I don't believe that anymore.
There's this constant sense that you're watching adults perform in a film written and directed by precocious children. Emotional reactions and behaviour are unconvincing, to put it charitably, and you don't have to know the specifics of history to instinctively know that those uniforms, those guns, that ship, Beatrice Barrilà's hair, the Zippo lighter, a grammaphone and the pastiche of 1930s-ish orchestral jazz that's playing on it do not remotely fit together in the same year. Anything is allowed to be here as long as it's vaguely old-timey; why make any more effort than that? And that's before the captain starts Duke-Nukeming quips such as "Eat this!" or the movie's cackling villain tells the captain that his "puny human brain can't concieve" of how good and fun his plan will be, mwa-ha-ha-haaaa. That's not even the only time that character says "puny human". It's so bad.
The only reason those costumes are here - really, the only reason this film exists - is because of season one of The Terror (which, lest we forget, was set in the 1840s). It's painfully obvious. Every diversion the plot tries to make from that can only be made via yet another crudely impersonated drama: Apocalypse Now, Aliens, The Thing. Please don't think, "Hey, I like all of those things!" You won't like this. When you're watching a Deep One wriggle on the spot as if there's a musical number playing, it'll also put you in mind of The Mighty Boosh. It's hard to square the idea that this monster type is your evolutionary superior with the visual appearance of a Halloween house worker.
Cliché-riddled community theatre, and it can't even be bothered to complete its very simple mission by the time the credits roll.
