The Shark-Obsessed Psycho Subgenre: Why CHUM Misses the Mark
There’s something undeniably captivating about the shark-obsessed psycho subgenre. It’s a blend of primal fear, human madness, and the vast, unforgiving ocean—a recipe that, when done right, can be utterly thrilling. But CHUM, the latest entry in this niche, feels like a missed opportunity. Personally, I think it’s a film that tries to do too much while failing to master the basics. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it stumbles over its own ambition, leaving viewers with a mix of gore, melodrama, and half-baked ideas.
The Human Drama: A Glimmer of Potential
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s attempt to ground its characters in real, relatable conflict. The wedding party at the center of the story isn’t just a bunch of stereotypes waiting to be devoured. The tension between Tina (Alice Eve) and Tom (Eric Michael Cole) feels genuine—a rare feat in a genre that often prioritizes body count over character depth. In my opinion, this is where CHUM could have shone. What many people don’t realize is that horror works best when we care about the people in peril. But here, the film squanders its potential by rushing through the drama, leaving the audience emotionally detached.
If you take a step back and think about it, the subgenre’s greatest strength lies in its ability to mirror human flaws through the lens of survival. JAWS did it with Quint’s obsession; DANGEROUS ANIMALS with Bruce Tucker’s greed. CHUM, however, fails to connect its human villain’s motivation to the chaos unfolding on screen. Roy (Jim Klock), the grieving widower, feels more like a plot device than a fully realized character. This raises a deeper question: Why bother introducing a human antagonist if their presence adds nothing to the narrative?
The Shark: A Mix of Realism and Ridiculousness
Let’s talk about the shark—because, let’s be honest, it’s the star of the show. A detail that I find especially interesting is how CHUM balances realism with over-the-top spectacle. The underwater shots are impressive, and the shark itself looks convincingly real—until it doesn’t. The film insists on showing the creature breaching in ways that defy biology, and don’t even get me started on the growling. Sharks don’t growl. Period.
What this really suggests is a lack of commitment to the genre’s rules. If you’re going to ground your story in realism—like addressing climate change as a factor in the shark’s presence—you can’t then throw logic out the window for cheap thrills. It’s a fine line, and CHUM crosses it repeatedly. From my perspective, this inconsistency pulls viewers out of the moment, making it hard to take the threat seriously.
The Meta-Level Mess: When Details Don’t Add Up
Here’s where CHUM truly loses me: its inability to maintain internal logic. Captain Mackey (Vince Jolivette) claims there’ve never been shark attacks in these waters, despite the opening scene proving otherwise. The severed communication line hints at sabotage but turns out to be mere negligence. Tom, supposedly an expert, spouts misinformation about Great Whites in the Mediterranean. These aren’t just minor oversights—they’re glaring errors that undermine the film’s credibility.
What many people don’t realize is that horror thrives on consistency. When the rules of the world are clear, the audience can suspend disbelief. But when every other detail feels like a plot hole, it’s hard to stay invested. Personally, I think this is where CHUM fails most spectacularly. It’s not just about the shark; it’s about the world the filmmakers have built—or, in this case, failed to build.
The Broader Trend: Climate Change as a Plot Device
One of the more intriguing aspects of CHUM is its attempt to weave climate change into the narrative. It’s a bold move for a genre that often sticks to simpler motivations like revenge or greed. But here’s the problem: the film treats climate change as a superficial plot point rather than a meaningful theme. Tom’s explanation about Great Whites being driven north feels more like a Wikipedia entry than a genuine exploration of the issue.
If you take a step back and think about it, this is a missed opportunity to say something profound. Climate change isn’t just a buzzword—it’s a global crisis with real consequences. By reducing it to a convenient explanation for the shark’s presence, CHUM does a disservice to both the genre and the issue itself. In my opinion, this is where the film could have been truly groundbreaking, but instead, it settles for mediocrity.
Final Thoughts: A Moderately Diverting Mess
CHUM isn’t a terrible film—it’s just a frustrating one. It has moments of genuine tension, a few well-crafted scenes, and a cast that tries its best with the material. But ultimately, it’s a film that bites off more than it can chew. From its underdeveloped characters to its inconsistent world-building, it feels like a missed opportunity.
What this really suggests is that the shark-obsessed psycho subgenre still has untapped potential. With the right storytelling, it can be more than just a vehicle for gore and jumpscares. It can be a reflection of our fears, our flaws, and our relationship with the natural world. CHUM, unfortunately, isn’t that film. But it does leave me wondering: What could this genre achieve if it aimed higher?
Personally, I think the answer lies in treating these stories not just as entertainment, but as a lens through which we examine ourselves. After all, the scariest monster isn’t the one in the water—it’s the one within us. And that’s a story worth telling.
