(rating: three-and-a-half stars)
By Andrew Hamlin
NORTHWEST ASIAN WEEKLY
Ever since Steven Spielberg’s “Jaws” hit theaters 50 years ago—June 20, 1975, to be exact—we’ve been afraid to go into the water. Indeed, the relentless killing machine, center stage (Latin name: Carcharodon carcharias), left young folks who sometimes didn’t even see the film, fearful to stick so much as their toes into not only any seawater, but lakes, streams, and even swimming pools and wading pools. Three official sequels came along (second one solid, the last two, let’s say, questionable) along with tributes, parodies, ripoffs, and an inescapable place in popular culture.
“Hot Spring Shark Attack,” written and directed by Morihito Inoue, arrives just in time for summer heat and summer shark thrills, straddling the line between parody and ripoff as it progresses on its merry, gory way. Inoue’s obviously paid close attention to Spielberg to the point where his film follows several plot points of the original classic: The resort town preparing for a blockbuster season; a money-grubbing mayor who can’t be bothered with any disaster warning signs; an early victim found mutilated on the beach; a taciturn police chief, simultaneously bored and oppressed, dreaming of retirement, dreaming of any job except his own.
So the new movie comes with some pre-established underpinnings. But it quickly loses itself in the joyousness of unlimited blood flow. First, we establish that more than one shark lurks in the deep. Then we learn these particular sharks are some kind of ancient genetic throwbacks with exceptionally soft bodies and bones, which allow them to swim through narrow pipes—enabling them to hunt, attack, and chow down on folks relaxing in what they think is perfect safety, in a hot springs pool or tub. Time after time, a relaxing hot springs bath turns into a scream and a flash of the great white’s black eyes, before blood runs down the screen.
From decidedly impossible, the movie takes a sharp turn deep into the heart of the absurd. Before too long, the sharks can show up anywhere, their sinister dorsal fins breaching beach sand, sidewalks, concrete, ground-level floors, higher-up floors, rooftops, and grade-school playgrounds—so it quickly becomes apparent that humans have no safe place to stand and be safe from turning into lunchmeat.
But wait, there’s more! These beasts build up methane released through their gills—so they smell nasty and they’ll explode if anyone tries to shoot them. They knock out sophisticated electronics with their inborn echolocation. They seem to especially enjoy the taste of internet influencers, sent in by the mayor to right the town’s reputation with the outside world. That endeavor all-to-quickly produces an influencer smorgasbord.
The swarming sharks seem to have all the angles figured out. What to do? The one sensible reaction, naturally. Find a mysterious, seemingly-invulnerable strongman (although truth to tell, this strongman volunteers his own services), drop him deep in the water with nominal supervision, and have him punch out the sharks, one by one. No scuba gear needed! He simply holds his breath for 10 to 20 minutes at a time while he beats up shark snouts. When he wants to talk to his pals in their mini-sub, he taps on their window in Morse code. Naturally, everybody fighting the soft-boned, omnipresent hot spring sharks, just happens to know Morse code.
All this splendidly nonsensical violent action gets rendered in CGI hankering back to the unconvincing CGI days of the early ‘90s. Sometimes the sharks look like stuffed toys. Sometimes they look like hand puppets. The whole enterprise chucks reason, rhyme, and reality out the door from the jump. But it’ll keep you amused—and if you venture out to see it, it’ll keep you air-conditioned to boot.
But forget about just not going in the water. Be very careful where you step.
“Hot Spring Shark Attack” opens July 11 in some local theaters and through VOD. Check local listings for venues, prices, showtimes, and online availability.