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Deep Blue Sea

Filthy says:
"Give me my
money back!"

"Deep Blue Sea" fucks you up the ass coldly and efficiently, as if IBM had built Big Blue to ram a long metal shaft up your rectum instead of beating Gary Kasparov at chess. It's an emotionless pointless, plot-challenged mess of a movie, with fake looking sharks, and even faker looking people.

Blame it on Warner Brothers, Renny Harlin and a stable of hack screenwriters, who joined forces and spent $80 million to do what the New York City police only needed a broken toilet plunger for.

Some scientists are out in the middle of the ocean, trying to reproduce proteins in shark's brains. These proteins are the cure for Alzheimer's, and one character even gives a half-assed speech about how she's driven by memories of her father's mental illness. Well, to harvest more protein, that scientist makes the shark's brains four times bigger than normal and now the shark's are super-smart and eat all the scientists. Hooray. The only people they don't eat are chef LL Cool J and some other actor filling in for MacGyver, who must be too busy making celebrity appearances at shopping malls to play himself.

I don't know where to begin in explaining the many ways a piece of shit can stink. This piece stinks of rotten beef, sour fruit, bile, lame-o plot, stupid, uninteresting characters, and fake computer graphics.

The plot sucks big hairy donkey balls. In yet another example of Hollywood's long-standing commitment to ignoring the intelligence of audiences, they made this movie with plotholes large enough for me to drive my very large dick through. Here are some things that those fuckers expect us to believe:

  • a single scientist can enlarge shark brains to four times their normal size, and without raising the suspicion of any other scientists who work by her side every day;
  • super-smart sharks would stop thinking like sharks and start thinking like humans;
  • corporation chairmen go out to remote testing facilities for their weekends;
  • LL Cool J can act;
  • electricity will stay on even though a building has flooded and collapsed;
  • super-smart sharks are really stupid when it's convenient to the story;
  • one non-scientific test proves a theory beyond a shadow of a doubt (right, Pons and Fleischmann?);
  • an annoying gathering of poorly-developed fucking assholes are worth our interest.

In its efforts to become a super-efficient ass-reaming machine, "Deep Blue Sea" dispenses with making its characters interesting or sympathetic, or anything else that isn't straight out of the "Lame Screenwrtier's Manual." Samuel L. Jackson's character is relegated to telling the audience we should be in awe at how cool everything is supposed to look ("Wow." "That's incredible." "I cannot believe how real those computer-generated sharks look."). LL Cool J plays the dumb black guy with the wacky sidekick. Due to a total lack of creativity on the part of anyone involved in "Deep Blue Sea," the sidekick is a parrot.

The movie's scientists can be no smarter than the people who created them. So, although they use big words and mention the "Harvard Compact" like they might almost understand it, they have the intelligence of hack Hollywood screenwriters who alternate between sticking their thumbs in their asses, putting a few words on their laptop screens, and sucking their own poop off their thumbs. The characters act according to the plot, never becoming more than caricatures strategically placed to be eaten by sharks.

Up yours, you motherfucking screenwriting chumps. To think it took three of them to create what a computer loaded with the latest automated screenwriting software could have done. How do these writers work? One guy takes a big shit, then some Hollywood exec says, "That shit's not exciting enough, let's get another writer in here to shit right on top of it." Finally, another writer is hired to stir up the big pile of shit and adds his own crap. "We're done!" exclaim the execs, "another triumph!" Dear Sirs in Hollywood, if you are paying big money for shit-stirrers, I will turn in my overalls tomorrow and catch the first Greyhound bus to LA.

Once Warner Brothers had amassed enough well-stirred shit, director Renny Harlin stepped in and said, "If I layer lots of computer graphics on this shit, I can make it look worse than it smells." The movie moves along quickly, but not for a single

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moment did I give a fuck what was happening. No tension, no excitement, no drama. Only fake-looking sharks eating people and showing their dorsal fins.

There was a time when Samuel L. Jackson was considered a good actor. No more. That asshole will do anything for a paycheck. If the money was right he'd appear in Police Academy alongside Steve Guttenberg and that chick with the big tits. To his credit, however, Mr. Jackson walks through his performance telling us every moment that he doesn't give a fuck about the story. He's just waiting to be eaten.

One finger in the face of those fake sharks. I'm not too scared it will be bitten off.

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