Cocaine Bear (2023)

Cocaine Bear is the rare movie that delivers exactly what its title promises—and does it with such confident, mischievous craft that you can’t help but admire the nerve. Elizabeth Banks treats the absurd true-crime spark like a lit fuse, keeping the pacing brisk and the tone gleefully unhinged as a rotating cast of would-be heroes, hapless criminals, and unlucky tourists collide in a forest that’s basically turned into a slapstick nightmare. The comedy lands because it’s self-aware without winking itself to death, and the carnage is staged with B-movie bravado that’s as inventive as it is excessive. If you’re squeamish about graphic gore or tired of drug-fueled mayhem, it’s not going to convert you—but if you want a tight, chaotic, laugh-and-gasp crowd-pleaser, this one earns its cult status in real time.

Cocaine Bear is clearly trying to be a gleefully trashy midnight-movie mashup of creature-feature thrills and pitch-black comedy, built around an undeniably killer premise. The problem is the film leans so hard on the headline gag that the joke starts to feel stretched, with a scattershot ensemble and thin characters making the chaos feel more noisy than sharp. The tone wobbles between gory horror and goofy comedy, so if you want either genuinely tense thrills or consistently clever satire, you may find it oddly unsatisfying. Still, if you’re in the mood for shameless, bloody mayhem and don’t mind uneven pacing and broad performances, there are enough outrageous set pieces to justify the ride.