Cult filmmaker Tommy Wiseau, somehow independently wealthy despite not seeming to actually do much of anything besides selling underwear with his name on it alongside DVDs and shirts, has finally, after two decades, put aside enough scratch to self-fund a follow-up feature. (The less said about his documentary short “Homeless in America” and his pseudo-sitcom , the better.) With , he’s following a more marketable trend of the low-budget sharksploitation flick, and is roadshow touring it alongside sometimes on the same night, other times on successive dates.
In typical Wiseau fashion, it must be said that , his second feature as writer/director/everything, bears about as much resemblance to the typical shark movie as did to its oft-advertised “passion of Tennessee Williams.” Unlike, say, or , though, the movie does have the (debatable) value-added element of Wiseau, who delivers exactly what his fans and haters might expect. Which is to say that like , is a product of so many bizarrely wrong choices that it transcends any conventional notions of “good” or “bad,” to the point of creating an alternate reality.
Big Shark Big Shark In our reality, the idea of a shark movie in which the three shark hunters repeatedly forget about the task at hand, getting drunk instead, might be a clever comedy premise. Indeed, probably unintentionally, Wiseau has created something akin to a modern Three Stooges movie. The jokes all stem from idiots being in a profession they have.