The scene is Arizona, here and now. A calf mysteriously falls ill and dies, baffling local vet and Marlboro' man Shatner. Tissue samples are sent to the big-town university, and the 'liberated' Bolling (insect expert) appears, diagnosing a huge overdose of spider venom. Together they discover a spider hill, a kind of grand convention for all arachnids everywhere. Nature is up-ended. Tarantulas, usually cannibals, have become community conscious. Man's insecticides have destroyed their natural food and so they are turning to...guess what? Wooden performances, ham-fisted direction, an achingly bad script, plus a grisly Country and Western sound-track amount to a must to avoid even for the diehard kitsch fan.