Review: THRASH is a Wasted Wirkola Opportunity

The prospect of a Tommy Wirkola “Fin Flick” had me positively giddy, but sometimes, life lets you down. Thrash, another once-theatrical Sony project transferred to Netflix, doesn’t have the same juice as K-Pop Demon Hunters. It’s a cross between Crawl and Bait 3D, but lacks the toothy bite of either superior aquatic thriller. Wirkola’s sense for popcorn entertainment is typically on point, but Thrash is more of a lazy river ride than an exhilarating shark-attack survival piece.

Whitney Peak stars as Dakota Edwards, an agorophobic South Carolinian who watches her small town, Annieville, drowning under waters brought on by a Category 5 hurricane. A nightmare ensues as houses, meatpacking plants, and other structures are flooded—creating entry points for sharks that have swum in from the coast. Dakota tries to stay inside, but a trapped, pregnant Lisa Fields (Phoebe Dynevor) needs rescuing. Elsewhere, three foster children—Dee (Alyla Browne), Ron (Stacy Clausen), and Will (Dante Ubaldi)—must defeat the shark that’s now trapped in their submerged prison of a home. As rain pours down and winds rip, it’s not a natural disaster that poses the biggest threat. It’s bull sharks, and if marine researcher Dale Edwards (Djimon Hounsou) is to be believed, a tagged great white that now calls Anniville home.

In a just world, Thrash would have been the second coming of Under Paris. An audacious, snack-happy, off-the-rails riff on Jaws that puts a smile on our faces. As is, Thrash’s hodgepodge of warring narratives and tones feels uncharacteristically lost for a Wirkola project. From Dead Snow to Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters to Violent Night, Wirkola’s command over his goofball sensibilities about lovable genre hybrids has proven steadfast. Thrash is different; an absurd natural disaster flick that lifelessly sputters until the finale, where Wirkola finally comes alive as a director.

It’s a stylistically drab experience for so long, despite lines like “Mommy has to go kill a fucking shark.” Momentum bubbles like an afterthought as the swimming predators prey on Anniville's locals, but there’s a stodgy inauthenticity about Thrash’s craziest zigs and zags. These lunatic B-plots about monstrous foster parents finally meeting karma or Lisa’s soon-to-be single mother embracing childbirth in the middle of a Deep Blue Sea scenario read as top-tier Wirkola beats, yet there’s a lack of enthusiasm. Thrash’s mundanity is gobsmacking, and Wirkola’s inability to showcase his wacky, wicked signatures is a failure. It’s simply not Wirkola; perhaps a ghost director is responsible for the first two-thirds?

The cast, by virtue of a film that’s doggy-paddling through scenes, are basically treading water. Dynevor doesn’t capture the B-movie spark that playing Lisa demands, even with a magical Michelle Branch needle drop at the wildest time. Peak can sell the paranoia angle, finding fear in the agorophobic blockers already in place, although she’s somewhat underwritten (even for a feeding-frenzy flick like Thrash). And the rest, well, unfortunately, I wanted more from. The whole aura of ambivalence about Wirkola’s less-than-enthralling storytelling bleeds into performances, reading as more workman than personalized. No one’s owning parts; they’re just filling gaps.

But, with immaculate shark sequences, much can be forgiven. Or, well, could have been forgiven.

Thrash doesn’t sink as badly as something like The Black Demon, where digital creature designs are appalling. That said, it’s more reliant on animation over practical in ways that—I’ll repeat—are disappointingly sauceless. Wirkola delivers as expected when it comes to bloody clouds tainting waters as another victim is torn to pieces, yet the sharks themselves are virtually sculpted for a passable grade. At least the third act, which finally gets a pep in its step, indulges the tactile goopiness of bonkers defense plans that result in explosive outcomes. In these small moments, Wirokla is rejuvenated, riffing on Edgar Wright’s energetic edit cuts or the boundaries aquatic horror titles can and should push.

Sadly, however, Thrash is defined by its inability to be anything more than a cheap imitation of better, more accomplished standouts in shark cinema. Any movie that makes Djimon Hounsou look like he’s phoning it in is doing something terribly wrong. To describe Thrash’s subplots would make you sound insane—so why is there nothing notably batty about its execution? It’s a floater, unable to rise above Wirkola’s own battle to make himself noticeable on screen. Which, by the time he makes his presence known, it’s far too late. A rare miss for an otherwise accomplished purveyor of unexpected laughs and pulse-pounding thrills.

Movie Score: 2.5/5