Avalanche (1978)

Avalanche is a lean, satisfyingly old-school disaster thriller that wastes no time turning a glossy ski-resort grand opening into a white-knuckle fight against nature’s indifference. Corey Allen keeps the pacing brisk and the tension steadily tightening, while Rock Hudson and Mia Farrow bring a surprisingly human, bruised maturity to the interpersonal fallout amid the chaos, and Robert Forster adds the grounded, wary presence the story needs. The vibe is pure late-’70s catastrophe cinema: big peril, practical mayhem, and that weirdly comforting sense that the movie is always one bad decision away from the next jolt. It’s not for viewers looking for subtle realism or a low body count, but if you want an entertaining, highly watchable survival ride with recognizable stars and constant momentum, this one delivers.

Avalanche wants to be a glossy, star-powered disaster thriller where human arrogance meets nature’s payback, and on paper that’s a perfectly watchable setup. In practice, it plays more like an overextended TV movie: the buildup drags, the dialogue can be unintentionally funny, and the big set-piece you came for takes its time arriving and doesn’t exactly wow once it does. The tone wobbles between serious peril and soap-opera melodrama, which makes it hard to stay invested even when the body count rises. Still, if you enjoy late-’70s disaster flicks for the familiar beats, recognizable faces, and campy charm rather than convincing effects or tight suspense, you may find it an easy, undemanding watch.