Deep Blue Sea is one of those wonderful films that loves to point out that any scientific venture intended to help ease the suffering of simply being unfortunate enough to be mortal, no matter how much anguish it wishes to eliminate, can only end with disastrous results that threaten all life on Earth. Possibly deep down God feels envious that we’ve noticed the problems in his designs which we have taken it upon ourselves to correct, thus proving his fallibility by addressing the glitches, which is why all these attempts to eradicate feline AIDs or the effects of aging are always met with such heavy-handed side-effects. In this case, our wish to cure Alzheimer’s is greeted with megalomaniac sharks – a fitting punishment if you ignore the logic but not the context. God’s sense of humour is as cruel as natures’ idea of perfection (sharks are pretty much immune to evolution, they’re THAT perfect), and the anti-scientific community producers behind this film are all too quick to show us the error of our ways. So shut down your TV, laptops and iPods and return to worshiping the One God from your cave like a good sheep, and just maybe it’ll end the tyranny of hyper-intelligent animals that have been sent to show us the retribution for trying to make the world a better place.
Part 1: “They’re Sharks; what’s the Worst that could Happen?”
The story begins with the discovery of Hester Collyer by her neighbours, having tried and failed to commit suicide. Some time before, she left her husband, a respectable High Court Judge, for a semi-alcoholic former British R.A.F pilot…wait this doesn’t sound right. Lemme check the DVD case…
Oh for the love of Neptune, this is like Battle L.A. and Battle For L.A fiasco all over again. Like all sci-fi horrors about mad science gone wrong that proliferated the late 90s’, we begin on a drunken teenage party out at sea. The boozed up frat boys and girls are having fun until the attention of a shark large enough to be classified as a small island is drawn to them by the red wine knocked overboard – everyone knows white wine goes with fish, and the shark is here to presumably teach them proper etiquette. Smashing up their shit like a PMSing She-Hulk all out of ice cream, the drunken shark tears apart the boat as if it were made of nothing but hard wood and rust-proof metals. Victory is snatched from her at the last moment when, on the cusp of a meal well earned, she is harpooned by Crocodile Dundee and reigned in for lab rat duty. Take that nature, you shit.
In the world of the land-lubbers, ice queen Dr Susan McCallister is being lectured by her boss, Samuel Jackson as player by Samuel Jackson (for he only EVER plays Samuel Jackson), for allowing another shark under her watch make headlines after yet another prison break. If you’ve been warned once about a shark outsmarting your security protocols, shame on you, however if fish are proving you a fool on a regular basis then it’s time to reconsider job options.
Samuel Jackson: We’re having second thoughts about letting you keep sharks…
Susan: Okay, admittedly this looks bad…
Samuel Jackson: “Bad”? It’s a shark attack! It doesn’t matter if that was a boat party for sex rampant granddad molesters or racist dogs; there is no way to give this a positive PR spin.
Susan: In my defence, when you build a giant aquatic lab for ubber-sensitive research, you’ve gotta decide where the grant money goes; the science and technology, or the anti-shark security. We went with the first option, giving us a remaining budget of roughly $470 to buy papier-mâché materials to build an impressive but impractical fence.
Samuel Jackson: Damn it woman! I am this close to closing this embarrassing project down.
Susan: But you wouldn’t want to do that, what us being so close to finding out how to beat Alzheimer’s disease — with sharks.
Sharks are the cure for Alzheimer’s – of course, it’s so obvious! Why must scientists always waste time and money on experiments that will cause untold doom, then they could be spending it figuring out exactly what a duck-billed platypus is. Samuel Jackson agrees to keep the project going under the stipulation that he oversees the experiments and facility in action. Anyone else think this is a bad Idea, considering the last time a Samuel Jackson character came into contact with animals manipulated by scientists with God complexes he ended up as…well:
Regardless, they head for the floating shark Auschwitz out in the middle of the ocean – sure it has its drawbacks, such as an inability to call for immediate assistance should shit go bananas (and it most definably will go bananas), or to stop PETA finding you and submitting you to a PR battle of Tanooki Suit proportions, but it is practical if you…erm, look at all of this from the hungry rampaging sharks point of view. Within moments of arrival Samuel is nearly eaten by one of the smaller sharks
Things are off to a encouraging start – after all, if the head investor is eaten then nothing with threaten the project…apart from the Einstein sharks. We meet the team; Hot She-marine Biologist (mortality rate: dead before we’ll see her naked), Crocodile Dundee (mortality rate: how is he still alive right now?!) who is WRESTLING A LICENCE PLATE FROM A SHARKS MOUTH, Tony Sopranos’ incompetent sister Janice in the radio tower (mortality rate: up here, what could happen?), the Nice Guy (mortality rate: nice guys finish last and get eaten first), comic relief actor-wannabe-rapper Chef (mortality rate: Black Guy never dies first anymore), his Parrot (mortality rate: someone please give me a brick to end this fucker now!), and of course the mandatory Genius Pessimist who loves the sharks more than his fellow species (mortality rate: countdown to ironic death in 10…9…). The rest of the extensive staff leave for the weekend, and by the time Monday rolls around there’ll discover a whole new meaning to the term ‘weekend skeleton crew’.
They are only conducting the research on the largest, most violently unpredictable sharks, rather than the marginally less dangerous fractionally smaller ones, for reasons known only to the unseen Dr. Smith character trying to sabotage the project with more smarts than he did the Jupiter Space Mission in Lost in Space. Lets clarify this; they are only working on sharks that are large enough to pass as decommissioned submarines and aircraft carriers, NOT the smaller cuddlier ones we all see all the time, all the time, on the Discovery Channel, and keeping them in an open paddock mere inches away from the observation deck, and the scientists are confounded as to how their subjects keep escaping! If Ming Dynasty China had been this lax about security then they’dve been overrun by the Mongolians from day one. The main lab is under water and decorated in the depressing style of ‘rust-chique’ envied only by those living in Bioshocks’ Rapture; a shark-housing laboratory complex a mile beneath the surface… Wow how could this have been a better idea than building it a mile in the air, or an active volcano – you know, someplace NOT UNDERWATER SHOULD THE SHARKS RUN AMOCK. Crocodile Dundee has taken a disliking to Samuel Jackson (has he never seen Caveman’s Valentine?), presumably because as an adventure-seeking shark wrangler he has an inferiority complex towards a successful businessman (most thrill-seekers just want to be investment bankers at heart), and decides that a power struggle needs to be established before the sharks can submit their applications too.
It’s feeding time for the happy campers, however these sharks are so hardcore they only eat other sharks. Y’reading this? These sharks are so big and vicious they only engage in needless cannibalism. ABANDON THIS EXPERIMENT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF POSSIDEN! Add some sweet, sweet sugar to this bitter pill Janice and tell everyone how a big-ass storm is rolling in to completely set the mood of gloom to that of the terminal children wards’ day-out to the local morgue. Putting problems such as cannibal sharks and impending weather fronts aside, it’s time to prove to the SCEPTICAL INVESTER that his $200M is in competent hands by throwing a lavish party, complete with Chef telling Jackson that all the white folks should die up a mountain to compound his annoyance of not funding a more practical project, like the use of bees in perpetual motion or something equally ludicrous. She-marine Biologist lays down some expositionary facts about sharks never going blind or suffering cancer (so instead of treating these afflictions they’re going purely for the unmentioned Alzheimer’s!?), and somehow this gave them the idea to enhance the brain power of sharks to Brainiac levels because…well, there is no explaining why they had to make the sharks smarter to conduct their tests, AT ALL, but they did it anyway because smart sharks are waaaaay scarier that dumb ones – I’ll try and remember that if I’m ever attacked by a shark in the wild.
Dawn rolls around, bringing with it a whole new set of problems with hurricanes and tsunami weather. No time to be concerned with weather for the team though; it’s time to smart-make some fish to cure a dumbening disorder. Why do all the lab doors have to be locked out of curiosity, when it’s not like the sharks have human lungs, legs and thumbs to go with their increasingly genocidal brains? Crocodile Dundee ventures into the paddock to drag out an unwilling specimen and to the crews horror discover that the sharks have LEARNED HOW TO SWIN BACKWARDS when threatened. That implies that any biological function, no matter how physically impossible, can be overruled with the right aptitude of willpower
Most interesting of all is that the sharks are more fearful of guns being fired UNDERWATER than of their cannibalistic kin – unless that gun fires sharks this seems an almost paltry phobia. Then the sharks start taking out the pen surveillance cameras. *Sigh*, okay, it’s one thing to recognise a gun – after all, you only need to see it being carried by a man foolish enough to swim with sharks without any apparent protection to know it has some trump value to his survival chances. However, knowing what cameras do and how they operate without this having been explained is bollock purer than Christ’s nads. So unless the sharks have tapped into hitherto unknown psychic abilities, I ain’t buying this. They follow this up by disabling the exterior power source (why are the electrical power boxes in the water inside the sharks pen!?) but Crocodile Dundee still manages to out-doo the largest of the fuckers, DRAG HER ONTO THE LOADING PLATFORM STILL CONSCIOUS, and return with her to the lab without being eaten by the engineering degree holding knife-fish. Having not put two and two together by ignoring how the sharks recent evolutional ability to SWIM BACKWARDS, DISABLE HIGH-TECH EQUIPMENT, AND GO ALL HOUDINI THROUGH THE SECURITY FENCES conveniently coinciding with the tests that make them smarter, they continue to improve the killing potential of the monster, pissing her off further by drilling into her skull sucking out part of her brain with the tact and care of the Arachnid Brain Bug.
No surprise when the muzzle-less super-shark being brain raped and skull fucked decides to lash out and rip out the Genius Pessimists’ arm AS HE TRIES TO PET HER. Good thing the experiment was a complete success, because knowing they have a cure no one will live to market should really take the edge off all the horrible maiming to come. Susan releases the now grudge-holding shark back into the paddock before it can be put down for eating a man retarded enough to cuddle her –I really can’t decide who I should be siding with in this situation so here’s a helpful deduction: who would you feel more empathy towards, a raped and tortured Hitler or a man stupid enough to announce he is a Jew banker in a room full of Nazi super soldiers? Unbelievable as it sounds, the scientists side with the mouthy Israelite and call in air support to evac him to the nearest hospital. Unfortunately the storm is so bad that the rescue helicopter is blown into the radio tower with Janice Soprano inside – the Not-so-genius Pessimist is dropped into the shark pen, so it’s good that he was fitted with the oxygen breathing mask, because drowning is sooooo much more nightmarish than being tied to a gurney in a tank full of sharks who recognise you as the person who rammed sharp objects into their heads on a daily basis. The explosion knocks out the main elevator and power systems with the crew trapped down below. Misery and company are nothing is not social parasites thought, as no sooner can one think ‘this can’t get any worse’ does a shark use the gurney-bound Pessimist to break the observation window and bring liquid terror to the masses. The sharks have now mastered the art of using tools – and to think I always thought the only regrettably negative by-product of human/shark hybrids were the Street Sharks.
Part 2: I’ve had it up to here with these Motha Fuckin’ Sharks in this Motha Fuckin’ Aquarium!
Feeling the strain of the broken window in the sub-marine basement, naturally the entire complex is at risk of collapsing into the deep blue…never mind. Yes it appears that for a building created 70 years ago to house war submarines and withstand pressures of oceanic currents and enough bombardments from the Gestapo to class it as a better stronghold than all of France during WWII, one cracked window is enough to bring the entire sea fortress crashing down faster than plates held by an epileptic waiter with dislocated elbows at a flashlight convention. And all this because they decided to increase the intelligence (read: ‘killing potential’) of sharks. Here’s an idea: instead of augmenting natures most honed to evolutionary perfection murder machine, in future why not use a passive animal, like an armadillo or sloth?
Sure it’d make for a less interesting film, and certainly less void-your-bowls perilous, but you never know how much of a threat a sloths could prove unless we find out.
A few locked doors are no match for Neptune’s’ wrath and the water quickly enters the facility, along with the three remaining sharks: Stalin, Mugabe and Mao, who’ve forced their way into the facility in order to gain freedom – proving they may be smart enough to use tools and open doors, but when it comes to swimming up and hopping a fence they are still several brain enhancement sessions away from perfection. Samuel, like myself, is wondering how a shark can get through doors, and Crocodile Dundee is more than happy to put his mind at ease; no, they haven’t grown arms but the largest, Stalin, can throw a good couple of tons of weight at any barrier in her way. That’s far more reassuring. Not only that, but they know what they’re doing, strategising and forming a game plan to get to the crew.
Jackson: I’ve been dancing around this for 45 minutes now, but what exactly did you do to these sharks?
Susan: Isn’t it obvious? Their brains weren’t large enough to synthesise a sufficient amount of the protein required, so we made their brains bigger. Duh.
Jackson: In that case I have some observations. 1) If you increase brain size but not the skull with it, the pressure would actually cause them to get dumber, like golden retrievers. 2) If you can increase a sharks intellect to Stephen Hawking level without the pressure of swelling then why not study that in humans – it’s bound to have far more use, may eradicate Alzheimer’s anyway, and would have made you realise the potential bonuses of following that study rather than the disadvantageous one of practicing it on sharks. 3) If one shark didn’t produce enough protein, WHY DIDN’T YOU SIMPLY USE MORE SHARKS INSTEAD OF MAKING THEM ALL SMART ENOUGH TO OPEN DOORS?
Funnily, the other scientist seem shocked to hear this – meaning that a group of shark specialists, brain surgeons and marine biologists couldn’t tell that the sharks were intellectually evolving in unprecedented ways since the beginning of the trials. I expect this of the chef, but these people are paid to be on the ball with this sort of thing. So are the sharks self aware like Hal or do they think they’re people – a plot device so steeped in brilliance it was coined for the sensational childhood classic Help I’m a Fish!
Elsewhere in the complex, the Chef is playing America’s #1 game show: Can You Out Run Natures’ Deadliest Killers? Apparently he can, as he trudges through waist deep water faster than Mugabe the shark, the animal water was invented for, can swim through it. Eventually he baffles Mugabe by slipping behind a closed door, proving my theory that shark vision is based on prey not being obscured by doors. Back with the predominantly white cast who started this whole mess (damn white folks making more problems for a brother), we discover the sharks have trashed the escape submersible…and this room isn’t even submerged in water (the fuck!?). I’m tired of trying to feel anything other than contempt for these people, so fuck it lets follow Chef around a bit more as he tries to rescue Parrot from Mugabe. Parrot dies a heroes death (smirk) allowing Chef to use his natural habitat, the kitchen, to put an end to Mugabe’s reign of terror – trapping him in an oven and exploding him to death. That’s one toothy bastard down. Back with the nature-tampering group, it’s once more up to the black guy to get the cowardly honkies through this predicament.
Samuel Jackson: Ah faced down raptors, ah faced the wrath of a psychotic Tim Roth, ah even took on an aircraft full of legless reptiles and survived an avalanche prior to the start of this movie. And of this ah can be certain: I’m not–SHARK!
Stalin the Shark: Nom nom nom.
She-marine Biologist: Oh em gee, what the fark!? Did Samuel Jackson just die?
Nice Guy: How can that happen? I thought Jurassic Park was the last time his mortality was tested.
Susan: You’re forgetting this is 1999: Samuel Jackson won’t become an immortal lead-man for another four years.
Down one man shouting all the time due to a lack of vocal volume control, the cast have no choice but to press their way onward. Problem is their only options are between swimming in the shark pool, or climbing the access ladder – the risk being that it could depressurise the entire compound and collapse it instantly, not because they can’t be bothered to move their fat asses up 40 stories of vertical laddering (I’d rather die than exercise too). With the swim option compromised they decide to climb it after all, the depressurising effect sucking more water into the facility, but it isn’t all bad because the entire upper floor is on fire – the anti-water. A tricky decision over the benefits of melting over drowning is decided when Mao the Shark busts in from below and chases them up with the rising waters, taking the She-marine Biologist with her before departing (fair is fair, they killed a useful member of the ensemble, so now the sharks go for a bloody useless one). Chef opens a door that allows them to escape the elevator shaft.
Nice Guy: It was worth loosing the blonde chic. Now that we’re here on level 1 we can take the stairs outta here.
Chef: Nope, stairs are flooded.
Nice Guy: Are you sure?!
Chef: To clarify what you’re asking me; you want to know how I could be 100% certain a stairway I just came from was flooded? How could I not be sure if a flight of stairs was completely underwater?
Susan/Crocodile Dundee/Audience: Don’t play the race card. Don’t play the race card. Don’t play the race card…
He doesn’t play the race card, however that may be because he’s too preoccupied with the facility giving way beneath them. Finally convinced that the stairs are flooded, Nice Guy, the cracks in his sanity flashing like a trench coat clad pervert with Alzheimer’s, decides to help the mentalist shark fighting Crocodile Dundee turn on the main power back in the submerged lab. See if you can tell how that works out for him by closely studying this picture:
Part 3: Sharks are Womanising, Racist Bastards!
Dundee escapes with the power back on. Meanwhile Susan has returned to her lab to grab her research notes, stalked by Mao the Shark. Even under the duress of a shark attack, her inhuman inability to feel any emotion, including fear, allows her to flee unharmed – unlike the poor Mao who chomps down on a live cable while ogling Susan’s’ unencumbered sexiness as she strips to her underwear – I think this was for a reason, but there was stripping going on so to fuck with the reasons.
Susan rejoins the suicide squad as they make the final push; with the power back on they can flood the central shaft and swim to freedom. Along the way they are joined by the Stalin, Empress of the Ubber-Sharks, who is happy to be free of the prison that gave her the intelligence to become the world’s first fish overlord, the ungrateful bitch. Not contented with having killed the main body of people responsible for her torture, Stalin decides to show her inner Klu Klux Klan and go for the Chef, who’s done nothing to her – although by proxy he fed her captors, so for that he can go to Hell! Heroically, the remaining whites run away while Chef is being ripped apart. They must feel like such jerks when Chef breaks free after stabbing Stalin in the eye – as an aside to earlier, this is evidence that sharks can defiantly go blind, it just takes the right situation and as sharp implement to the retina. Safely ashore, Crocodile Dundee realises that the upper security fence is feeble in comparison to the lower holding pens and steel doors previously rammed through by the kill-fish. Fair enough observation, yet he states that Stalin knows it too and she has been forcing them to flood the facility in order for her to make it to the weaker barriers between her and the unlimited ocean beyond. I know hunters of big game tend to go a tad loco and personalise the minds of their game, however believing that sharks understand metal densities and tensile strengths just from sight alone…? THE FUCK ARE YOU BLATHERING ABOUT!? Worried that Stalin might prove a threat to the globe at large, rather than just dipshits fool enough to mess with her brain, the puny humans decide that the death of the planets only super, God defiling mega-shark must be genocideed to extinction. They don’t even ask her, chosing to talk behind Stalin’s back as she gnaws at the fence, and instead decide to shoot her while she’s preoccupied, using Susan as bait. Susan is torn asunder, not that she has my sympathies seeing as she decided to slash herself up and swim rather than just wiggle her bleeding hand in the water to draw Stalin into the firing line, and Crocodile Dundee wrestles her like he thinks he’s Batman-
-when in fact this is the reality:
Chef takes over shooting duties, being sure to fire the harpoon into Dundee’s’ leg which pins him to the shark, however he breaks free just before an electric current is run through the harpoon cable and Stalin detonates in a shower of lost potential – she could have gone on to cure Alzheimer’s for all we knew. With a whole species wiped off the face of the Earth, time for the remaining survivors to trade witty comments and forget the friends they saw torn to shreds by homunculi of their design.
Thus ends an event in history only marginally worse a mishap than the creation of the Street Sharks. I’m so happy the 90s are behind us.