Don't Go Into the Water, Kids!
As far as B-movie premises go, Shark Night’s is hardly revolutionary. Sharks! In a lake! Eating college kids! And yet that’s part of the fun. Bypassing the obvious logistical issues (why don’t they just stay out of the water???), there’s a certain goofy charm to these kinds of generic creature features, especially with this generation’s post-modern spin on things. Piranha proved last year that you could make a fully self-aware aquatic monster movie, and even used its 3D illusion to its fully gimmicky potential. So why, then, does Shark Night 3D suck?
Most of the blame lies squarely with the director, David R. Ellis – he of the worst Final Destination movies and the infamous Snakes on a Plane. Ellis simply has no idea how to develop suspense or even build a scene properly, and so his movies consist entirely of awkwardly constructed sequences and a few jump scares. Take the opening scene of Shark Night – an ill-advised homage to/rip-off of Jaws’ über-famous one. Ellis’ wayward camera and haphazard editing style lead the scene to be utterly devoid of tension and almost completely pointless – an absurdly far cry from Spielberg’s beyond reproach method. And the remainder of the film is too much like this opening – anytime you think it might be gaining momentum or establishing something resembling mood, Ellis’ incomprehensible style rears its ugly head and renders the feeling moot. It’s a totally lost film.
That’s not to say it’s without value, though. In the final act, the horribleness of the piece reaches abysmal depths, and the film crosses over into new territory entirely – that of camp classic. Ellis somehow does a decent enough job playing with audience expectations throughout the first half of the film, which is why a third act twist that comes completely out of nowhere actually fits within the film’s “tone”. References to Shark Week and Nietzsche (no kidding) abound, and characters’ motivations are revealed to be laughable at best, downright baffling at worst. I was even bizarrely reminded of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome at one point. It’s a perplexing, ludicrous turn of events, and yet turns the film from awful to awfully fun. Just keep your expectations in check.
All in all, though, the movie’s largely a waste. Things like exposition, character development, or even decent acting are hardly defining characteristics of schlocky cinema, and yet Ellis half-heartedly tries to force them upon us, with neither the chops nor the motivation to do so. Since it’s PG-13, there’s no tits or gore to be found, and so the only remaining reasons to see the film are some good laughs and a look at Katharine McPhee’s side boob. What a shame.
