Here we are then at instalment 7 of the Dickshark saga, or, if you prefer old money, the one 4 after I should have shut the hell up about Dickshark.
If you’re new here and wonder why I’m writing my 7th blog reviewing a film that doesn’t deserve one-seventh of a blog then start here.
If that seems like too much work then just know this, we’re one hour and six minutes into the film and, to quote Charles Darwin, “I hate the Dickshark as no man ever has before”. Every time I start a new blog I swear it will be the last, that I’ll watch the whole film and rattle off 800 words on how dreadful it all was and move on with my life…yet every time the dreadfulness catches me in its web.
Maybe, however, things are looking up, because the next scene opens in a new location and, right off the bat, tells us the name of the woman in it – Jill.
Bill and Jill have a very short conversation. We find out that Jill is his ex-girlfriend, who “still welcomes [his] gaze” and who enjoys sunbathing in the forest (so that the leaves provide a natural diffusion filter, rather than her having to apply the toxic chemicals in sunscreen to her body)…and that’s it for this scene.
The whole thing lasts less than 90 seconds and seems, to my untrained eye, to be utterly pointless.
Let’s not dwell on that, though, because another bikini-clad young woman is going for a swim (in slo-mo, natch), unaware that the titular monster is entering the water.
While our (once again) unnamed heroine slips off her bikini the shark edges closer.
As the shark swims closer it uses some kind of hitherto unmentioned psychic powers (indicated by wavy red lines on the screen) to entice the bather into performing oral sex on its dorsal penis, meanwhile, unperturbed, a duck swims by in the background. No, really, she’s giving a blow-job to a rather manky looking rubber dick and there’s a duck happily swimming by right behind her. Nobody on this film was even concerned enough with continuity to shoo the duck away, to stop it disappearing between different angle shots.
After a very short length of time (stretched out to eternity by the combination of slow-motion and that fucking no-name metal/grunge band who are providing the soundtrack) our fellator spits out what appears to be half a pint of milk. Not yet satisfied the dickshark returns, backs her against a pier and starts having sex with her, possibly driven to new heights of lust by the cameraman’s discovery of how to use fish-eye lens shots.
This intense moment of the film doesn’t quite make it into the horror hall of fame because it’s transparently obvious that the dickshark (a) is only having sex with the woman courtesy of her pushing and pulling it in the right directions and (b) clearly floats on its side, just like a real shark.
Who knows, maybe if the shot had been fleeting, or filmed in near darkness then this could have looked like a terrifying aquatic rape, but Bill Zebub isn’t one to fall foul of such clichés. The shot is in full daylight, so that we can see exactly how shoddily made the shark is, and, like most of his scenes, lasts as long as the camcorder battery. It’s not often you find yourself thinking, “OK, I am now bored with watching this naked woman fuck herself with a poorly constructed phallic shark”, but this film affords you that rare treat.
Even the director, unschooled as he is in the ways of film-making, seems to recognise the boredom creeping in. This can be the only possible reason he cuts away from the rape for 30 seconds to show the viewer the ducks again.
Back with, you know, the plot (such as it is) the shark appears to be satisfied (more milk has appeared in the water) and its victim makes it out of the water and onto the pier…where she spends 90 seconds getting to safety, mainly on all fours, naked and with the camera following her.
Now there are two ways to do that shot:
a. Tastefully; have the camera high, looking down on the actress’ back, perhaps focussed on her shoulder-blades. This allows you to see her fearfully looking behind to see if the beast is pursuing her, or
b. Exploitatively; with the camera low so that hopefully none of your target audience will give a flying-fart whether she’s looking behind or not.
Guess which one is used. Go on, just guess. You can phone a friend if you want.
Then that scene suddenly ends and we’re treated to a spectacularly bad special effect of two speed-boats crashing into each other and then the most extraordinary thing…
We may have just had 90 seconds of starring at a rape victim’s vulva, but surely the inclusion of a dressed woman, who’s on-screen for at least 2 seconds, shows that Dickshark is serious about its ‘not a porn story’ credentials.
This apparently was a commercial for ‘Mako boat body repair’. I don’t know why it was in the film. Perhaps it’s going to be relevant later. Perhaps it’s a real boat company. Perhaps the director is just throwing every scrap of film he has lying around his house into this movie.
Actually, probably that one.
Almost as soon as the commercial starts it’s gone and over a visual of a pair of buttocks a woman protesting, “I don’t see why I have to be naked”.
No, nor do we, but that’s a mystery for Dickshark VIII to solve.
The review continues here