Miami Magma is about as good as you'd expect from a TV disaster movie: It isn't very good. There's a big asterisk here. As a low-budget endeavor, with inherently low expectations, there's a chance of being relatively good. Not as in the cult classic line, "So bad, it's good"; rather, the more respectable, "It isn't that bad," so it's good.
The plot moves the standard volcano scenario out of the usual places, all the way to South Florida. This is a way to keep it fresh, most likely. The opportunity is somewhat wasted. Miami culture, real or stereotyped, barely figures-in except for an ill-fated Spring Break beach party. (This intends to set some sort of subplot, but the film proceeds to forget about the clever survivor). The city scenes clearly were not shot in Miami judging from the trees.
The unlikely location is rationalized well. The plot starts with Dr. Antoinette Vitrini (Rachel Hunter), a college professor who isn't taken seriously in her research suggesting the Gulf of Mexico is a giant caldera pulsing with magma. Enter evil oil company. The only thing more dangerous than an evil oil company is an evil oil company drilling into a secret supervolcano, in a world where regulation is nowhere to be found. It's easy work covering-up a sunken oil rig and passing-off the CEO's self-destruction in a manic steam accident as a heart attack. (The authorities either missed the scorched corpse and witness who watched it happen, or they don't exist - more likely the latter in this Miami.) Until now a quiet voice of conscience, the CEO'S lackey engineer Ray Miller (Cleavant Derricks) quickly sells out to the Board, which also happens to be evil, and becomes consummately awful. Because why not?
Isolated fissures and steam events occur throughout Miami, roasting characters who are introduced just to be roasted. Antoinette, her ex-husband Brad (J. D. Evermore), flirtatious sister Emily (Melissa Ordway), and research wiz/unwitting chick magnet Brandon (Griff Furst) embark on a mission to thwart Evil Oil Company's illegal projects before the city blows. The writing is quite good as the plot escalates. Tracking devices, traitors, imposters, arson, helicopters, kidnappings, ransoms, shootouts in factories loaded with dangerous chemicals. It's all here. The final drama is not found cliché self-sacrifice, but one character's dignified redemption. It has touch, maybe even soul.
Miami Magma is full of faults and incongruities. The ominous background music will not shut up, even during inane conversations. There aren't enough extras panicking about the coming cataclysm, making us rely on the scramble of our heroes to remember anything is going on. Most of the effects are created by smoke machines and cheesy fire animations. All this can be forgiven in a B-list disaster movie.
Interestingly, the inherent genre and money-enforced limitations of Miami Magma help make it a competent movie. It is priced out of effects-crazy excitement; the boneheaded kind where one can't even tell what is going on, just that the situation is bad, very bad. Miami Magma relies, instead, on solid performances by the actors and a credible script. No, it isn't high art. Yes, it's built on blatant unrealism. But you basically know what you're getting when you sit down in your armchair to watch something like this. This film gives you your time's worth.
