Sharktopus, or Why You Should Not Go to Mexico Without a Big Nuclear Spear Gun

Sharktopus, or Why You Should Not Go to Mexico Without a Big Nuclear Spear Gun

Never mind Egypt — this TV newsbabe’s got serious assault problems

In Declan O’Brien’s Sharktopus (2010) there are two problems.

The first is how to get as many taut firm young bikini-clad bodies in the film as possible.

The second is, inexplicably, how to keep those bikinis firmly in place.

In a film that requires an unusually robust suspension of disbelief — not just for the Sharktopus itself, but for the laptop that never runs out of juice and boots up in seconds, the cell phone that always gets service, the magic machine gun with the eternal supply of bullets — the idea that all these panic-stricken bathing beauties can run away from a giant mutant man-eating ambulatory shark/octopus without losing a bikini top here or there simply won’t do.

This is why the SyFy Channel should not be allowed to make movies — even if the producer is Roger Corman.

A SyFy movie has to be shown on the SyFy Channel, which is readily available to every Tom, Dick and Methodist.

That in turn means no nekkidity, no cussing, and none of the other elements that make the cinema the great art form it is today — like sex scenes interrupted by a giant mutant man-eating ambulatory shark/octopus, for instance.

There’s some plot I won’t bore you with, except that it’s that darn old military-industrial complex fiddling around with the genetic balance again. Amazingly, the movie does not blame George W. Bush. For anything.

Never go bungee-jumping, especially not when a giant mutant man-eating ambulatory shark/octopus is on the loose

We’re talking bikinis galore, all occupied and none in transition, for an automatic one-coil deduction.

Fire-dancing routine for stupid fat tourists entertainingly interrupted by Sharktopus. Boat, Volkswagen convertible eaten by same. Spoiled whiny girl who reminded me of my last girlfriend so much that I cheered when she was neatly plucked from the bungee jump by Sharktopus. Head popping. Tentacle fu. Confusing subplot that ends happily when annoying TV reporter gets mauled. Confusing subplot that ends happily when pirate radio deejay gets mauled.

With some mild nudity, this could have been a truly noteworthy film. With lots of utterly pointless and gratuitous nudity, this could have been a serious contender for an Iron Coil — right up there with heavyweights like Bloodsucking Freaks, Zombie Lake and Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS.

As it is, Sharktopus gets full marks for funny story and not wasting a lot of time on plot; the special effects are just as goofy as they need to be; and at 89 minutes it’s a sandwich and a seltzer kinda deal.

Three coils

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