I rarely get angry. It’s just not in my nature. I worked over a decade in the construction business and even in dealing with customers who knew everything there was to know about home remodeling thanks to catching a few seasons of whatever garbage HGTV was shitting out, I always kept my cool. Frustration would boil over sometimes but a few deep breaths and some understanding words and I’d be back on my zen like level of whatever. I work in logistics nowadays. Dispatching truckers, tracking loads for customers and dealing with whatever issue a carrier is calling in about. All over the phone. Frustration will pop up here as well but my voice is never raised and empathy allows cooler heads to prevail. Why this little peep into what your fifteenth favorite reviewer of trash and crap is like at home? Well, I’m angry. I’m very angry. It’s all thanks to this piece of shit Italian shark film. Fuck you Deep Blood. You hold the honor of being that rare film that pissed me off.
A group of kids roast some weenies on the beach. A weird elderly gentleman, who I believe is supposed to be some kind of shaman for a local tribe of Native People, approaches them and starts rambling some nonsense about evil spirits and how this group of little idiots are going to have to face some trouble in the future. He doesn’t partake in the weenie eating. He gives the kids some sacred wood (God, this all sounds like an SVU backstory) and they bury it in the sand. Time passes
The stupid kids are now annoying young adults and those trying times the super white shaman warned them about are fast approaching. The pleasant beach community they call home is about to be visited by a pissed off shark. Apparently, said shark is actually the physical manifestation of an evil Native American spirit. That sentence, those words I strung together, is the most exciting thing that happens in this film’s 90 minute run time. Seriously. Fuck this movie.
Stock footage of sharks, stolen scenes from superior films and the thrills of watching someone else fish in real time slaps you across the face like a blind date that ended in unasked for bondage with your least favorite gym teacher. There’s a police chief who doesn’t believe the stories of a killer shark, well at least for a scene. He later approaches the guy who’s witnessing of his best friend being eaten wasn’t enough proof for him to get off his ass and apologizes when it looks like there may in fact be a shark in the water. There’s a group of asshole jerks who make life miserable for our hero but instead of meeting a watery death, the leader of the pricks joins up with the heroes and helps them kill the shark. In between all of this is family drama and girlfriend problems…all delivered by a group of people who would be too bland to get cast in a Twilight film.
You’ve read my reviews. You know my tolerance is somewhere near legendary but holy hell this film made me want to go back to painting office spaces just so I had something more exciting to watch. An uncredited Joe D’Amato apparently assisted with directing duties on this. The only hint of that is the back of Laura Gemser’s fucking head. When the highlight of your film is the back of the legendary sexbomb’s head you have completely screwed the pooch. Deep Blood is like a metal sliver in the eye, it’s like being forced to eat dust that’s been sitting in a puddle of milk for two weeks in August. There’s no joy here and for some reason it seems proud of it…which is somehow worse. I repeat: fuck this movie.