It's rated PG-13.

I could cut this review off right now, make it the shortest one I've ever written, and that would explain everything you need to know about this movie. Because, seriously, if you're the kind of person who'd shell out the gouging 3D ticket price to see something called Shark Night 3D--and I am one hundred percent that kind of person, so I know you and your needs on this one, trust me--then you are going because you want NEED MORE THAN ANYTHING to see stupid humans treated like meat-and-blood-filled floatation device snacks for supernaturally aggressive sharks. You require Piranha 3D levels of insanity, mayhem, nudity and gut-chomping. But you will not get them. Not even close. By way of comparison, Soul Surfer devoted at least a dozen minutes of screen time to people reading the Bible and that was a more exciting shark attack movie than this.

So, some college kids (including American Idol runner-up Katherine McPhee -- Taylor Hicks won the show and she won this) go to a Louisiana bayou beach house, take their tops off with their backs to the camera and get eaten one by one in sleepily un-R-rated ways, thanks to a variety of digital and animatronic sharks. There's even a throwaway kill at the very beginning that rips off the opening death throes of the anonymous female swimmer in Jaws, minus the scariness. And the stabbing pain in my head right now is the nagging idea that somewhere this weekend a bored tween born in 1999 is going to see this lazy garbage-movie before getting a chance to witness that '70s classic and not know any better because his rotten parents haven't done their cinematic duty. It should be against moviegoing law.

Even more confusingly, it was delivered to your glasses-wearing face by a man who knows better. David R. Ellis is responsible for the awesomely dumb Snakes on a Plane and the just plain awesome Final Destination 2, so there's no good reason for this level of timidity and boredom. Sam Jackson should be swooping down onto the bayou on a hang glider, a special shark-killing laserblaster strapped to his chest, shouting, "THERE'S MF-ING SHARKS IN THIS MF-ING LAKE!"

Instead, the coolest moments in the entire 90 minutes involve a couple of flying shark-acrobats, Donal Logue as the shady sheriff discussing "moral relativism," some extended car-driving and boat-motoring sequences that will remind you of Manos, The Hands of Fate, exactly one split-second of pleasure in which a former American Idol contestant attacks a bad guy with a knife she has hidden in her butt cheeks and a cameo appearance by a pool toy designed specifically for playing beer pong. If you choose to watch this movie you should probably play a little of that first.


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