REVIEW: SNOW SHARK

I am speechless.

I am without speech.

Years ago, I saw an incredibly low budget looking trailer for a film called Snow Shark. Being the avid bad shark movie enthusiast that I am, I looked upon the trailer with glee, assuming it was just a joke.

"Ha ha! No way that's real!" etc.

Flash forward to the semi-present and I happen to catch wind of Snow Shark's impending video release.

"Ha ha! They sure are keeping that joke going!" I say to myself.

Then I'm sent a press release threatening to send me a complimentary copy.

"Ha ha! Let's do it!" I said.

And now, 80 minutes later, I don't even know what to say. What I can say...is that it was no joke. Snow Shark is a thing. A REAL thing. 

What's it about, you ask? Seriously? Is the title not enough?

Go ahead, I'll await here:

In 1999, a team of animal biologists investigating a rash of wildlife killings disappeared in the lonely woods near a small town. Years later, a local resident claims to have killed a prehistoric carnivorous creature living in the snow. Now, someone – or something – is making lunch of the locals.  

As curiosity-seekers and crypto zoologists descend on the small town, drawn by the legend of the Snow Shark, Mark - sole survivor of an earlier attack - leads an armed and dangerous posse into a deadly battle. 

Dive into Snow Shark, the outrageous and spine-tingling tale of the world’s greatest predator, frozen for thousands of years, freed by an earthquake, and really, really hungry.   

Reviewing a film like this is a tough order because it's clearly stupid. Everyone involved in the production knows it's stupid. Even the director knows it's stupid. The acting is...not great. The effects are...less...not great. And when I say effects, I mean a shark's fin being towed across a field by a truck, and a surplus of Final Cut Pro digital blood. 

Despite that, Snow Shark is irresistibly watchable. To watch Snow Shark is to watch an ambulance driven by a bear crash into an IHOP, which then explodes into tiny pieces of confetti shaped like middle fingers. You have never seen anything like it before, and you never will again - that is unless writer/director Sam Qualiana has a sequel in mind: Snow Shark 2: Winter is Chumming.

In Snow Shark, no one is safe. Not cryptozoologists, not fake Suicide Girls, not Santa Claus. All become shark meat, and all die gloriously.

I suppose in any review of any shark film, I have to use the J word. It's unavoidable. So let's get it out of the way.

Jaws.

Allow me to enhance:

Snow Shark is no Jaws. It is no Jaws 2. It is not even that fake Jaws 5 which remains unreleased in 99% of the universe. I feel a little weird even bringing up Jaws in the same breath as Snow Shark. It's like mentioning W.S. Maugham in a review for the latest book by that British witch who wrote all that housewife bondage Twilight fan fiction you see on the shelves at Target next to Glenn Beck and Dora the Explorer. Because the two are so disparate that not even Batman's Tumbler shooting miles from one ramp to another with a tow line could connect them.

I bring up Jaws, however, because like that landmark film, Snow Shark DOES feature: a sheriff, a biologist, a crusty shark hunter, and a mayor who refuses to do anything about his particular problem until Snow Shark swims up and bites him right on the snowsuit. (The ass part.) Oh, and shark deaths. Plenty of those.

"Mind if I masticate?"

Are there "jokes" in Snow Shark?

Not really.

Is the entire film Snow Shark a joke?

I think so. But I really have no idea.

"Promise me you'll kill that snow shark if it's the last thing you ever do!" one sister of a victim sobs.

"The demon has no soul! It only keeps me alive to feed off my pain!" another character shouts.

Hmm...

No. Still not sure.

There is no winking and/or nudging to be seen. Dear God, they are taking this seriously.

Oh, wait - someone just ordered a Cutty Shark. Does that count?

In a film with this kind of budget, which was clearly limited, am I allowed to bring up things like...the shark head we sometimes see is clearly superimposed over the snow from which it's supposed to be unearthing? Or, can I point out the handful of outdoor scenes which boast canned "windy" noises, but whose trees and brush in the background remain still and undisturbed?

How about the fact that there's a fucking real-life, honest-to-gosh shark that fucking lives in snow? Shallow, shallow snow?

There's no such thing as a "review" for Snow Shark. Not anywhere. You might think there is, but there's not. Instead, it's the scattered ramblings of someone trying to comprehend what it is they just witnessed.

How about this? I watched Snow Shark. I am still alive. I laughed quite a bit. I still cannot play the piano.

Image may not actually be from Snow Shark.

Snow Shark is terrible and amazing all at the same time. It is Hulk Hogan punching you in the face, screaming his shirt off, but then buying you a brand new car. It is eating a slice of pizza, finding a bloody band-aid inside, but your waitress, Katy Perry, giving you an apology blowjob.

Show Shark is an amalgamation of everything I adore and abhor about low budget horror.

It simply just...is.

Experience it for yourself when it hits video February 19.

DROOG

"It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen."

If we don't, remember me.

A SECOND EMILIE

The French teacher said that she was born in Dijon 32 years before she took up her post at Neuwelcke. She was fair skinned, with chestnut hair and blue eyes, and was fairly tall and slim. The pupils described her as having a sweet and lovable nature. The superintendents at her school were entirely satisfied with her work and were impressed by her gaiety, intelligence, and education.

Everything promised well for Emilie Sagee’s career at Neuwelcke - but within a few weeks of her arrival she became the focus of rumour and gossip at the school. It seemed that Emilie could be - literally - in two places at once. If she was reported to be in a particular part of the school, someone would contradict, saying, ‘Oh no, she can’t be there; I just passed her on the stairs' or in some distant corridor. Individual pupils repeated this sort of confusion time and time again, but the teachers dismissed the girls’ stories as silly mistakes.

But naturally the most excitement was caused by the rumours that followed the first appearance of the ‘double’ to a number of witnesses. Emilie Sagee was giving a lesson to Julie von Guldenstubbe and 12 other girls. The subject of the lesson varied slightly with each storyteller: for example, one suggested Emilie was energetically demonstrating a mathematical theorem on the blackboard; Julie said the lesson was French grammar. What was agreed on was that Emilie Sagee was standing with her back to the class. Suddenly, a second ‘Emilie’ materialized at Emilie Sagee’s side. The two were exactly alike and went through the same movements, synchronizing perfectly. The only difference was that the real Emilie had chalk in her hand but the fetch had none; it merely mimed the teachers actions as she wrote on the board. This story caused a great sensation at Neuwelcke, particularly as all 13 pupils in the class agreed precisely in their description of what they had seen.

In the following weeks the fetch was seen on a number of occasions. For instance it appeared at dinner, standing behind Emilie Sagee and imitating her movements as she ate. But, as in the classroom, the double’s hands were empty. On these occasions the schoolgirls were not alone in seeing Emilie’s fetch; the servants also reportedly saw the fetch behind the chair.

One of Julie’s school friends was badly frightened by the fetch. Fraulein Antonie von Wrangel was in a group invited to a local rural festivity and she was getting ready in her room. Emilie was helping her to fasten her dress. There was a mirror behind them and Antonie turned to catch a sight of two identical mademoiselles, each doing up her dress. Startled, she fainted clean away.

However, the fetch did not always mirror Emilie Sagee’s actions. Sometimes, Baroness Julie reported, it would behave quite independently. For example, the real Emilie Sagee would rise from her chair - but the double would remain seated. Antonie von Wrangel and a group of friends looked after Emilie when she was feverish with a cold. The girls took turns to read to her as she lay recovering in bed. Antonie was alone with her when she noticed the colour drain away from Emilie Sagee’s face. She was so pale she seemed about to faint, and Antonie asked if she was feeling worse.

Emilie replied with a weak and trembling voice that she was not, but her frightened look alarmed Antonie. A few moments later Antonie looked up to see the fetch walking about the room in excellent health. This time Antonie did not tell Emilie what she had seen, and when she came downstairs she immediately told the others what she had seen. On that time there was only one witness, but on the next occasion the incident was witnessed by the whole school.

This time all 42 pupils were gathered in the school hall to do their sewing and embroidery. Four french windows opened onto a corridor leading to the large garden in front of the house. The weather was fine and the girls had a clear view of the garden, where Emilie Sagee could be seen picking flowers.

The girls sat round a long table and the teacher sat at one end, supervising their work. After a little while she got up to leave them alone for some reason. Her chair did not remain empty for long however, as suddenly Emilie Sagee appeared in it. The girls turned their eyes to the garden and sure enough, there was Emilie. Although still gathering flowers, her movements were slow and languid as though - as the girls later remarked - she had suddenly been overcome with fatigue and tiredness. All the while her fetch sat silent and motionless. Although afraid, the girls were getting used to the strange phenomena and two of the boldest among them decided to take a closer look at the fetch. They approached the chair, determined to touch the apparition. Stretching out their hands they encountered a slight resistance in the air surrounding it, such as a film of muslin or crepe-de-chine might offer. One brave girl tried to pass between the chair and the table - and stepped right through the figure in the chair. Emilie’s double did not react, however, remaining seated until, a short time later, it slowly disappeared. As before the girls turned to the garden to watch Emilie Sagee again gathering flowers with her usual animation.

All 42 girls agreed on what they had witnessed and some questioned their teacher soon after. They asked how she had felt in the garden and if she had experienced anything special. Emilie answered that she had noticed the other teacher leaving the girls unattended. Emilie had had a clear view of the empty chair and recalled wishing the teacher had not left her pupils alone to waste their time and probably get up to mischief. She had wished, she added, that she could have been sitting there to keep an eye on the girls so they would get on with their work.

IT AIN'T THAT BAD: DEAD SILENCE

In this column, movies with less-than-stellar reputations are fairly and objectively defended. Full disclaimer establishes that said movies aren’t perfect, and aren’t close to being such, but contain an undeniable amount of worth that begs you for a second chance. Films chosen are based on their general reception by both critics and audiences, more often than not falling into the negative. Every film, no matter how dismal, has at least one good quality. As they say, it ain’t that bad. 

Spoilers abound.

I suppose it was inevitable. I've mentioned James Wans' Dead Silence more than once, and always in a positive light. But now it's time to fully defend what I would never consider to be a "great" movie, but one I find myself revisiting fairly often, especially late at night when it's not quite ready to retire.

People love Saw. I will not begrudge that. It is easy to show enthusiasm for low budget horror that manages to be original (it was) and effective (well...some parts). I would not call Saw a legitimately good film, but will say it showed the promise of co-writer/director Wan. Luckily Wan's sophomore project allowed him to team up with Saw co-writer Leigh Whannell for an attempt at a hat trick success with both audiences and at the box office. I'm always pleased when first-time directors strike it big with a horror film and opt to stay in the genre. And Universal Studios, thestudio that really brought horror to life with all the classic movie monsters, were enthusiastic about the duo's approach in resurrecting the golden era of the horror genre with their tale of witchcraft, ventriloquism, and old drippy mansions. They even used the original Universal Studios opening logo, establishing the idea behind the film immediately. 

Strange that the studio would then get cold feet after reading the script and demand the duo insert a bit of violence and an OCD, electric-shaver-using cop (played by Donnie Wahlberg), all because sound (and the slow disappearance of) becomes a reoccurring gimmick. If you see enough films, it becomes easy to tell when one deviates from its intended form into studio meddling. Generally things become lame and corny, and endings become unbelievably happy/resolved. While you can kind of sense all that in Dead Silence, in my opinion (obviously) it never becomes distracting. 

Uh oh, I'm rambling.

Ryan Kwanten (Red Hill, "True Blood") plays Jamie Ashen, who lives in a charming city row-home with his pixie-haired wife, Lisa. All seems well, and the couple is very much in love. Once Billy shows up outside their front door, however, it all comes crashing down. Lisa is killed by this mysterious visitor and Jamie finds himself following the trail of her killer. 

Billy, by the way, is this guy:

Dead Silence respectfully rides the long-tattered coattails of films like Magic, and before that, 1945's Brit import Dead of Night, an anthology film whose dummy-dedicated segment is definitely the creepiest. Wan and Co. know that, outside of the Full Moon brand, living/killer dummies is a largely underutilized storytelling device. Therefore, Dead Silence's intended focus was originally on mood and atmosphere over violence, and while that largely remains, the bits of violence crammed back feel foreign at times. And the mood and atmosphere in Dead Silence is gorgeously haunting. Halloween enthusiasts will find a lot to love about the mysterious Raven's Fair, home of the Ashen family, as well as murderous puppeteer Mary Shaw (Judith Roberts). Fog comes standard and rolls across graveyard grounds as if it were alive. Even during the day the sky looks dark and foreboding. And then there's the playhouse, set by itself on an island surrounded by a mile of water. Even the scummy motel where Jamie takes residence after arriving in town is brought to eerie life by the neon lights that cast their colorful glows through the swaying curtains. All of Raven's Fair feels like it was designed and constructed to do nothing but unnerve those who enter. 

I love myths. I love back stories and towns with a secret. It's the reason why I love The Blair Witch Project, and Stephen King's unofficial Castlerock series. I love this idea of a town's residents smiling fake smiles and pretending all is well, but living day in and day out with a murderous secret. And Dead Silence has that down in spades. The origin of Mary Shaw is explained, as are the events which led to her death at the hands of Raven's Fair residents. And again, like The Blair Witch Project, actual thought went into establishing this back story. 

Kwanten does a satisfactory job of carrying the film, and doing his best to help legitimize a bunch of killer dummies running around ripping out tongues. It's nice to see him play a rather understated role, as most familiar with him are more accustomed to his Florida trash, misogynistic "True Blood" Lothario. Really, Dead Silence has a pretty commendable ensemble of supporting actors, boasting both Bob Gunton (most famous for playing the warden in The Shawshank Redemption) and Michael Fairman (Mulholland Dr, "Sons of Anarchy"). Gunton's performance as Jamie's father, Edward, is...off-putting and not quite there, which, if you've seen the film, is obviously by design. Fairman as Henry Walker, the local mortician, is the exact opposite: frantic, scared, and all over the place. He knows damn well what the citizens of Raven's Fair did to Mary Shaw, and he knows the descendants of those involved are dying one by one under mysterious circumstances. 

While we're talking about actors, we need to mention Judith Roberts as Mary Shaw. She is a big creep. Even before she's a blue-tinted grinning ghost, she's still a big creep. Wan and Whannell love creepy old women. This and Insidious proves that. And they are right to, because old women are creepy simply because they're not supposed to be. They're supposed to be pleasant and meek and quiet. They're supposed to give you garish sweaters for Christmas and listen to Frankie Avalon. They're not supposed to be murderous or evil. They're not supposed to rip you apart for uttering a single word.

Former NIN member Charlie Clouser has been scoring films for a decade now, his most notable work pre-Dead Silence being Saw, in which his extremely memorable track "Hello, Zep" (which would go on to become Saw's signature theme) helped to really sell that film's otherwise ludicrous twist ending. A scene that became more far-fetched the more you thought about it was instead turned into an effectively blocked and directed moment, capable of causing chills in the audience. For Dead Silence, he also travels back in time in creating his score. Filled with classic strings and piano, but also complemented with his signature electronic dynamism the results are certainly one of the most memorable main themes in recent history. There's Gothic, and then there's Gothic, and then there is this score.

I love Dead Silence. As someone who appreciates old fashioned horror and drippy atmosphere, it scratches all the right itches. It's not perfect, but hell, what is?

A STILLNESS

"Brody felt a shimmy of fear skitter up his back. He was a very poor swimmer, and the prospect of being on top of—let alone in—water above his head gave him what his mother used to call the wimwams: sweaty palms, a persistent need to swallow, and an ache in his stomach—essentially the sensation some people feel about flying. In Brody's dreams, deep water was populated by slimy, savage things that rose from below and shredded his flesh, by demons that cackled and moaned."

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

SOME SHINE AND SOME DON'T

I love when stuff like this is unearthed from seemingly nowhere...

This comes from the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, which is currently hosting The Stanley Kubrick Exhibit. The below comes from an attendee:

“One of the coolest parts, especially for a designer like myself, was these sketches by Saul Bass for the film poster of The Shining. Previously I had no idea that Saul Bass had created the original poster so this was a really cool surprise. I’ve read online that Kubrick made Bass go through at least 300 versions of the poster until finally ending on the extremely alien looking version we now know.”

Every single one of these, in my opinion, is better than the final, infamous yellow version. That first one with the hand/trike is tops. You can click each image to embiggen and read Kubrick's own criticisms.

All was stolen with love from Dread Central.