Jaws: The Revenge
"Jaws '87" - Japan (English title) (informal title)

"This time... It's personal." Ellen Brody still lives in the island resort town of Amity, and her sons Sean and Michael don't work at Sea World anymore...

There seems little point in writing a review for such a film as Jaws: The Revenge, as those who have made it past the tagline and still given it an iota of consideration have likely already made up their minds as to whether or not they can stomach such an overwhelming inundation of garbage. With that in mind, as no reader could feasibly read with the intent of deciding whether the film is bad or good, this review will focus on a more comprehensive breakdown of the film's countless flaws. And rest assured that no matter how many innumerable detractions the movie has garnered, its atrocities becoming almost over-hyped, the film still manages to astound by the numerous fronts in which it completely fails to register any vestige of quality whatsoever. Even those seeking the film as an entertainingly terrible comedy will find themselves disappointed, as the film somehow manages to avoid the pitfall of usual B movie melodramatic hysteria, emerging as simply dull and all the more terrible as consequence. The film's complete lack of quality becomes instantly clear from the chaotically choppy cinematography and editing, betraying the film's seemingly near non-existent budget. Similarly, the creative black hole of a script somehow bests its own storyline absurdities by shamelessly stealing elements from Spielberg's classic original through clunky, senseless flashbacks (Ellen Brody recalls her husband killing the shark, despite not having been there to witness it) and in certain cases blatant plundering and rehashing of scenes (the charming interplay between Roy Scheider and his son from the first Jaws is leeringly plagiarized, devoid of any redeeming values whatsoever). All of which goes without mentioning the most glaring absurdities of the very premise: a shark seeking vengeance against family members of one who once killed a completely unrelated shark, enough so to track them to the Bahamas shows such a staggering lack of logic that one wonders how the film could possibly have been greenlit in the first place. But in this twisted reality, such qualms are easily explained away, as is the shark's outracing planes, standing on its tail, roaring and spontaneously combusting - it is difficult to imagine anything sealing the film's utter absence of quality any further. While Spielberg masked the clunky falsities of his mechanical shark by mostly obscuring it with subjective point of view camera work, director Joseph Sargent appears to positively revel in his antagonist's foibles, keeping his obviously fake shark in plain view to a comical extent. Similarly, viewers are even denied a high body count of entertainingly poor shark attacks, as the film's near non-existent carnage is devoid of any campy gruesomeness, resorting to extreme close-ups of the absurdly unconvincing attacks, generating less menace than watching a snail crawl. As a secondary character, the relatively poor acting of Lorraine Gary's Ellen Brody was for the most part easy to miss, but thrust into a lead role and her complete lack of a performance is unmistakable. Embarrassingly melodramatic or completely devoid of emotion depending on the scene, the banality of Gary's imbalanced attempted character is one of the film's weaker points, which is saying a lot. As her allegedly heroic son, Lance Guest's height of emotional intensity appears to be a slightly bewildered stare, proving comical at best, but little more. The hilariously ill-advised Michael Caine (the only cast member to escape with his career intact, and must have collected a considerable paycheque) usually appears to be reading his lines from a teleprompter offscreen with the same lack of emotion one would expect, and the absurdity of his sporadic romance with the far older Ellen Brody only furthers the stupidity. Finally, Mario Van Peebles is simply inexcusable; his atrociously bad Jamaican accent is a constant tarnish on the film's already consistently sullied quality, and once again, he fails to be over the top bad enough to prove enjoyable, simply resulting as noisy and pathetic.Astoundingly horrible only scratches the surface of what can be considered no less than a masterpiece of lapsed logic and catastrophic film-making, even failing on the front of being overblown enough to make a suitable unintentional comedy. While the film's atrocious quality is hardly a surprise, it still boggles the mind simply how bad an outcome it was possible to achieve. In fact, the film's laughably ludicrous tagline "This time it's personal" could well apply to the audiences watching the film: this time the franchise is not only resoundingly poor, but a personal insult to every last viewer unfortunate enough to find themselves watching it.-1/10
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