Since the 1975 premiere of SharkKiller shark movies are a subgenre whose ritual of salt water, sand and blood seems to herald the arrival of happy summer. Spielberg’s masterpiece changed the course of New Hollywood and, above all, of summer blockbusters. Since then, the list of films with bloodthirsty sharks is endless, especially in the juicy drifts of the craziest and most fascinating series B, of Mako, the shark of death, released a year after Shark, to, more recently, the delusional saga of Sharknado. Be that as it may, the shark, that “perfect killing machine”, contains the purest and most primitive fear. Perhaps because, as Robert Shaw’s character in Spielberg’s film explained, the shark’s eyes hide a terrifying secret: “Lifeless eyes, black and still, like a doll’s, until they bite, and those little black eyes turn white, while the water turns red ”.
White shark does not add anything new to this almost always entertaining subgenre, beyond a feminist wink embodied in the sisterhood of its characters. Otherwise, with the classic preamble that turns an idyllic vacation into a nightmare, the entire film revolves around a single trap. Five archetypes, a pilot wounded years ago by a shark, his companion and tour guide, a burly and affable cook, and two wealthy Asian tourists, he prim and she not, travel in a small plane to a dream beach where everything will begin to skew. The film takes place almost entirely in an orange boat that against the clock searches for land, relentlessly stalked by two white sharks (the subjective shots of the bug that Spielberg devised are repeated as is) that lick each other thinking about the banquet of castaways. All predictable, more or less digestible and, yes, with fabulous views.