Splice (2009)
Are you coming on to me?
The following review is like, one big spoiler.
With apologies to Bill Maher, New Rule: mad scientists are not allowed to have sex with their monsters. Just because your abomination against nature is easy on the eyes from certain angles, that doesn't give you license to treat it like a RealDoll. But when the proxy for Victor Frankenstein is a married couple of bickering hipsters, a lot can go wrong.
Granted, the Splice monster comes on strong--perhaps it was watching Species when it wasn't learning English from arranging Scrabble tiles. A little seducing here, a bit of rape there (after some sequential hermaphroditism), and the brutal biology of generating life has a new fiction personification.
The 1.0 versions are more fun: Caucasian-colored slugs named Fred and Ginger that dance with a choreography of mucus and venom and blood. In the movie's best scene, they demonstrate why scientists should never reveal their big project in front of a demanding audience, as if you didn't know that already from King Kong and Robocop.
That scene marks a turning point in Splice, which rewards the viewer with creeping unease and effective jolts as the Doctors create their first trespasses in God's realm. The monster is loose in the room--where is it? What will it do when they find it? Is it lame CGI or a rubber puppet dripping with glycerin? Sadly, the scares diminish when their half man half shark half alligator (with apologies to Dr. Octogon) grows up and gets arms, a libido, a sense of rhythm and so on. By the time it sprouts wings and a killer instinct, it's too much, too late.
Behind it all, of course, are those evil pharmaceutical companies. I think we know who the real monster is here. Making human / animal chimeras? Buying babies right out of women's wombs? It's all part of their nefarious conspiracy to develop medicine for sick people, and make money from erection pills. Which you'll need, if you want to have sex with your monster.