The Unapologetic Brilliance of Making Bad Movies Great
Let me tell you why Chum—a film where a shark becomes collateral damage in a man’s midlife crisis—is the most fascinating cinematic dumpster fire of the year. On paper, it’s a derivative B-movie: wedding guests get picked off by a great white while a vengeful widower manipulates the chaos. But dig deeper, and this film becomes a masterclass in how self-aware absurdity can accidentally expose the ridiculousness of both human nature and Hollywood tropes.
The Villain We Deserve
The real monster here isn’t the shark—surprise, surprise—it’s Roy, a man so consumed by grief over his wife’s shark attack that he weaponizes the creature against a boat full of arguing newlyweds and their entitled entourage. Personally, I think Roy’s arc is the most honest part of the film. His descent into obsession mirrors our own societal fixation on blaming nature for the consequences of our recklessness. We build houses in floodplains and then rage at hurricanes; we swim in oceans and then demonize predators for existing. Roy isn’t just a nutjob—he’s a walking metaphor for humanity’s refusal to take responsibility.
The Art of Absurdity
Now, let’s talk about those severed limbs. The filmmakers proudly tout practical effects and real sharks, but the fake limbs look like they were purchased from a Halloween store’s clearance bin. And yet? This is the movie’s secret weapon. The plastic limbs aren’t a flaw—they’re a feature. They signal to the audience: “We know this is stupid, and we’re leaning into it.” From my perspective, this self-deprecation elevates the film from trash to camp. It’s the same alchemy that made Sharknado a cult classic: when a movie’s budget limitations become its personality, it transcends failure and enters the realm of performance art.
Why We Crave Chaos in Cinema
What makes Chum particularly fascinating is how it weaponizes the wedding trope—a setting ripe for disaster long before the first fin breaches the surface. The bickering couple, the disposable side characters, the forced “romantic” getaway—it’s all a pressure cooker for chaos. And let’s be honest: audiences eat this up. We’re hardwired to find schadenfreude entertaining, especially when the victims are privileged enough to afford destination weddings. There’s a primal satisfaction in watching entitled characters get their comeuppance, even if the execution involves laughably fake bloodbags.
The Bigger Picture: When Bad Movies Become Cultural Mirrors
If you take a step back, Chum fits into a broader trend of “so-bad-it’s-good” cinema filling gaps left by risk-averse studios. In an era of endless reboots and algorithm-driven scripts, there’s something refreshingly chaotic about a film that embraces its own nonsense. It’s not just a shark movie—it’s a rebellion against the tyranny of “quality.” The plastic limbs, the hammy villainy, the romantic subplot that’s somehow more terrifying than the apex predator? All of it feels like a middle finger to critics who demand coherence over creativity.
Final Verdict: Celebrating the Garbage We Deserve
Here’s the dirty secret no one tells you: Chum isn’t just a movie. It’s a Rorschach test. If you watch it expecting Oscar-worthy drama, you’ll rage-quit by minute 20. But if you lean into the chaos, you’ll realize it’s asking a deeper question: “Why do we demand realism from stories about man-eating sharks in the first place?” Personally, I think we need more films like this—movies unafraid to be bad in ways that make us laugh, cringe, and maybe even reflect on our own complicity in the madness. After all, isn’t life itself just one big plot hole with occasional jump scares?
