There's a moment in "Mermaid," one of the most Florida movies to have ever Florida'd, when a character describes the Sunshine State:

"It's the only place on earth that can still kind of surprise me."

The oddly beautiful sentiment is followed by dialogue too wild to be printed here. That dichotomy between poetry and shock value sums up "Mermaid," a campy horror-action-everything flick shot in St. Pete Beach in 2023 and opening in theaters this week. I saw an early screening.

Our antihero is Doug, a Percocet-addled single dad played by Johnny Pemberton. After losing his job cleaning a strip club fish tank, Doug rescues a wounded mermaid. She's not the va-va-voom, bouncy-haired siren pop culture prefers. She is far more grotesque, an allegory for the lengths humans will reach to coddle and justify ugly addictions.

Director Tyler Cornack's smart premise devolves into the worn-out genre of Lowlifes Doing Crime. Even then, there's no denying the robust Floridian representation — wine moms in foamy sandals, Airsoft Gun-loving potheads, new money boat owners lusting for a thrill. And, naturally, mermaids.

It got me thinking about other movies that tell a compelling Florida story. Not movies that were filmed here, necessarily, but movies that embody our quirks, that feel, even at their most satirical or dramatized, somehow true. The list of Florida cinema flows like the Gulf of Mexico: "Moonlight," "Wild Things," "Crawl," "Rosewood," "Cocoon," "Summer Rental," "Dolphin Tale," "Magic Mike." And who could forget such classics as "Meth Gator"?

Here are my favorites. Please throw a proverbial flip-flop and fight for your picks the way Doug defends his monstrous mermaid.

"The Florida Project"

Sean Baker's 2017 film paints a riveting portrait of transient residents who live in a low-rent motel near Disney World. They hustle MagicBands and free breakfast, gaming the system each day to survive. The movie received heaps of accolades for offering a realistic antidote to the glossy House of Mouse, a world in which children caught in distinctly Floridian poverty still seek sparkle.

"Zola"

Florida isn't Florida without Tampa. And Tampa isn't Tampa without exotic dance. Enter "Zola," a movie based on an article based on a questionable social media thread chronicling a would-be stripper's road trip to Tampa. As writer David Kushner told the Times in 2021, "Zola" shows "Tampa as a character through little moments like late-night liquor stores and showing flying saucers where people strip. Tampa is not just an overworld. It is also an underworld."

"Nickel Boys"

This 2025 adaptation of Colson Whitehead's novel, which itself was indebted to Tampa Bay Times reporting, should be essential Florida viewing. "Nickel Boys" tells a fictionalized account of abuse at the shuttered Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys near Marianna. The imagery feels lushly Floridian with oranges and blue skies viewed through the eyes of a boy who suffered mistreatment and sought escape. The subject matter is a burden Florida must always bear and never forget.

"Spring Breakers"

Ever since Harmony Korine released his legendary 2013 neon fever dream of a Pinellas County vacation gone awry (to put it lightly), a couple maxims hold true: The world can never unsee James Franco with a grill; and the world can never take a week off in March without uttering the words "SPRAAAAANG BREAAAAK."

"Suncoast"

"Suncoast" is a Florida movie born from true life. Filmmaker Laura Chinn grew up in Clearwater. Her brother, dying of brain cancer, entered the same hospice where Terri Schiavo resided in a vegetative state, her stay sparking a global debate over the right to life and death. Chinn's 2024 movie sensitively reimagines the moment and paints low-income Floridians with humanity and grace.

"Goodfellas"

Fight me, I say! Blink and miss Florida in this 1990 Martin Scorsese mob classic about the gangster Henry Hill. But in that scene, Ray Liotta and Robert DeNiro dangle a debtor over the lion's den at Tampa City Zoo, now ZooTampa at Lowry Park. The result is instant movie lore. Plus, it's a reminder of how much mafia activity bloomed in Tampa Bay. Who else is ready for a whole Trafficante movie? Martin? Martin?

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: Ashley Satanosky at Unsplash