For my inaugural post here at the Bloodsprayer, I figured I’d tie Italian Week into Shark Week with Enzo G. Castellari’s (the original Inglorious Bastards) The Last Shark a.k.a Great White. What a stupid idea that was! Granted, it was three o’clock in the morning and I had just worked a brutal bartending shift filled with the stupidest requests ever, but I digress.
The plot is your basic Jaws rehash, with a 35-foot Great White stalking swimmers in a small coastal beach town. A skinny dipping beauty disappears, a windsurfer gets eaten (but if you ask me, he had it coming, all those stupid tricks he was doing on that dumb board with a sail), and a regatta turns into a massacre, and the mayor does nothing to protect the citizens of said coastal beach town.
Enter Peter, a novelist who once wrote a book about sharks and Ron, an old salty dog with an Irish accent and a personal vendetta against our shark. Ron warns us that now the shark has tasted human flesh, it’s gonna want some more. Sure, whatever, Ron.
Efforts to take down the beast ensue with everyone being told not to panic, which in fact, makes them panic harder until Ron and Peter sail out into the middle of the ocean to settle the score once and for all. Ron winds up drowning and Peter, remembering the dynamite inside Ron’s wetsuit, feeds Ron’s dead body to the shark, the shark explodes, the end. Add liberal bits of stock footage and you have yourself an homage, er, ripoff.
All is not for want, however, in that the shark looks pretty cool, in that dumb fiberglass model kind of way that makes you chuckle a little bit. Also, it seems when the shark attacks, there’s a simultaneous explosion. In the water. For no reason. Lesson learned, the Italians don’t make killer shark Jaws-ripoff movies any better than we do. And extremely slow motion shark attacks with a very familiar score over top belies tension.
The one sheet is rad, even though the grammar is a bit dodgy, and it hangs in my shark-themed bathroom.