Anaconda (2025) – A Big, Silly Snake Movie That Knows Exactly What It Is

Let’s get this out of the way first: Anaconda (2025) is not a great movie. It’s not reinventing creature horror, it’s not prestige cinema, and it’s definitely not subtle. But you know what it is? A ridiculously fun, crowd-pleasing throwback that understands the assignment and leans into it with a grin. Sometimes that’s enough, and honestly, sometimes that’s exactly what we want.

This new take on Anaconda doesn’t pretend it’s smarter than it is. From the opening moments, the movie signals that it’s here to entertain, not impress. The tone is knowingly pulpy, the characters are broad but likable, and the giant snake chaos is front and center. If you’re expecting realism, you’re watching the wrong movie. If you’re expecting a good time with popcorn, laughs, and a few wince-worthy snake attacks, you’re absolutely in the right place.

The story itself is pretty simple, intentionally so. A group of characters find themselves deep in dangerous territory, crossing paths with a monstrous anaconda that’s less animal and more unstoppable force of nature. The movie doesn’t overcomplicate things with heavy mythology or endless exposition. It keeps the focus where it belongs: survival, spectacle, and the constant tension of knowing that a massive snake could strike at any moment.

And yes, the CGI isn’t flawless. Sometimes the snake looks fantastic, huge, menacing, and genuinely intimidating. Other times… well, it looks like a movie snake. But instead of hurting the experience, that inconsistency actually adds to the charm. This feels like a modern creature feature that still respects the campy DNA of the original films. It’s closer in spirit to late-90s monster movies than to the ultra-serious horror of today.

What really elevates the film, though, is how much personality it has, especially in its cast. The movie knows that audiences don’t just want kills; they want characters to root for and performers who are clearly having a good time. That’s where the cameos come in, and they’re easily one of the highlights.

The Ice Cube and Jennifer Lopez cameos are absolute crowd-pleasers. They’re not blink-and-you-miss-them either; the movie gives them just enough space to make an impact without hijacking the story. Seeing them pop up feels like a love letter to fans of the original Anaconda, and the theater energy around those moments is exactly what you’d hope for—cheers, laughs, and a shared “no way” reaction. It’s nostalgic without being lazy, and it works.

Then there’s Jack Black, who, let’s be honest, everyone loves. His presence alone brings a certain chaotic warmth to the film. He understands the tone perfectly, delivering humor that never undercuts the danger but still keeps things light enough to remind you that this is supposed to be fun. He’s the kind of actor who can sell a ridiculous situation with total sincerity, and that skill is invaluable in a movie like this. Every scene he’s in feels more alive, more energetic, and more memorable.

What I appreciated most is that Anaconda doesn’t try to apologize for being a big, silly snake movie. It doesn’t bury its fun under irony or self-loathing jokes. It embraces its identity. The suspense is simple but effective, the action is loud and messy, and the pacing rarely drags. Even when you can predict where things are going, the journey there is enjoyable.

Is it scary? Not really, at least not in a deeply unsettling way. But it is tense, and it delivers plenty of moments designed to make you squirm or laugh in disbelief. It’s the kind of movie where you lean over to the person next to you and whisper, “There’s no way that just happened,” right before it happens again, only bigger.

By the time the credits roll, Anaconda (2025) leaves you with something surprisingly valuable: a sense that you had fun. Not every horror or creature movie needs to be groundbreaking. Sometimes it just needs to remind us why we fell in love with monster movies in the first place, because they’re ridiculous, thrilling, and best enjoyed with an audience.

At its core, Anaconda (2025) feels like a movie made by people who love movies for people who love movies. There’s a DIY spirit running through it, the kind you recognize if you’ve ever stayed up late shooting something dumb with friends just because it made you laugh. The film wears its influences proudly, tips its hat to creature features past, and never acts embarrassed by its own spectacle.

You can feel the joy of filmmaking in the way scenes are staged, jokes are timed, and chaos is embraced rather than polished away. This is the kind of movie that reminds you why making movies is fun in the first place, not for awards or perfection, but for the thrill of creating something wild, sharing it with an audience, and watching everyone react together. It’s a love letter to movie lovers, midnight screenings, and the simple magic of saying, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we tried this?”

So no, this isn’t the best movie of the year. But it is a blast. Between the nostalgic cameos, Jack Black’s undeniable charm, and a giant snake doing precisely what a giant snake should do, Anaconda earns its place as a modern creature feature that knows how to entertain. And honestly? I’d watch another one.