The Shark Movie That Sank Before It Swam: A Commentary on 'Chum' and the State of Cinematic Thrills
There’s something undeniably nostalgic about a good shark movie. It’s a genre that, for better or worse, has become a cultural touchstone—a reminder of simpler times when a giant fish and a few screams could keep us on the edge of our seats. But let’s be honest: since Jaws, the bar has been set so high that most shark films end up floundering in the shallow end of cinematic mediocrity. Chum, the latest entry into this genre, is no exception. In fact, it’s a masterclass in how not to make a thriller.
Personally, I think what makes Chum particularly fascinating is its ambition to blend real shark footage with AI-generated carnage. On paper, it sounds innovative—a modern twist on a classic formula. But in execution, it’s a disaster. The real footage, while occasionally striking, clashes jarringly with the AI effects, creating a visual mess that feels more like a student film experiment than a theatrical release. What this really suggests is that technology, no matter how advanced, can’t save a project lacking in vision or craftsmanship.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s reliance on tropes that feel tired and overdone. The plot—a group of friends and a bickering newlywed couple trapped on a yacht with a shark and a psychopathic killer—is a rehash of countless B-movies. What many people don’t realize is that the success of a thriller doesn’t lie in its premise but in its execution. Chum fails to bring anything fresh to the table, opting instead for stale dialogue, infuriating character dynamics, and a plot riddled with holes. If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s biggest villain isn’t the shark or the killer—it’s the screenwriter.
From my perspective, the acting is another nail in the coffin. Alice Eve, the only recognizable face in the cast, seems to be the only one trying. The rest of the performances are so wooden they could double as driftwood in the next shark attack scene. This raises a deeper question: why do filmmakers continue to cast actors who seem utterly disinterested in their roles? Is it a lack of budget, a lack of effort, or just a lack of care?
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s use of slow motion. There are moments where the editing seems to stretch time to its limits, as if the director was desperately trying to pad the runtime. Watching a character climb onto a boat in slow motion isn’t suspenseful—it’s just tedious. This kind of misstep highlights a broader issue in modern filmmaking: the confusion between style and substance.
What makes Chum unintentionally entertaining, though, is its sheer audacity. The AI-generated shark attacks are so bizarrely executed that they border on comedy. Victims float awkwardly, limbs seemingly magnetized to the shark’s mouth, and the result is less terrifying than it is absurd. In my opinion, this is where the film accidentally finds its footing. It’s not a good thriller, but it could be a great midnight movie—the kind you watch with friends, laughing at its flaws rather than cringing at its failures.
If you take a step back and think about it, Chum is a symptom of a larger trend in Hollywood: the prioritization of quantity over quality. With the rise of AI in post-production, there’s a temptation to cut corners, to rely on technology to do the heavy lifting. But as Chum demonstrates, technology can’t replace storytelling, character development, or genuine effort.
In the end, Chum isn’t just a bad shark movie—it’s a cautionary tale. It’s a reminder that even in an era of advanced technology, the heart of a film still lies in its humanity. The characters, the dialogue, the moments that make us feel something—these are the things that matter. And when a film neglects these elements, no amount of AI-generated carnage can save it.
So, should you watch Chum? Personally, I’d say only if you’re in the mood for a laugh. But if you’re looking for a thrilling, well-crafted shark movie, you’re better off revisiting Jaws. Because in the world of shark films, Chum is just another piece of bait—and it’s the audience that gets eaten alive.
