Review: She-Gods of Shark Reef

Bill Cord and his escaped convict brother Don Durant find themselves shipwrecked on an island full of women who seem to have a spiritual connection with sharks. Durant also gets wind of a hidden cache of pearls that he decides to familiarise himself with. Jeanne Gerson plays the tribal elder, Lisa Montell plays She Who Wears Boot Polish, and falls for hunky Cord, after he saves her from some weirdo ritualistic sacrifice deal.

 

Roger Corman may be a director/producer of cheap schlock, but usually his films are entertaining cheap schlock and look more expensive than they likely were. So let’s chalk up this 1958 AIP film from director Corman and writers Robert Hill (“Sex Kittens Go to College”) and Victor Stoloff (Something called “The 300 Year Weekend”), as a mistake from someone who didn’t yet know much better. Corman had directed several films before this, but wouldn’t make “Bucket of Blood” until the next year, let alone “Little Shop of Horrors” or the Poe films. Still, it has to be said that it’s a waste of interesting Hawaii locations, and a potentially interesting plot point involving a mysterious corporation behind the film’s island location that all involved seem to completely forget about. That second point is really important, because it’s the only interesting thing about the whole damn movie, which starts out promising but pretty much goes nowhere. A hidden cache of pearls is introduced to the plot at the 40 minute mark, suggesting the whole thing was made up as they went along. The criminal back-story/setup, meanwhile, is woefully defined.

 

Mostly, this is like a Japanese kaiju film without the monster, and pretty badly done, save for the Ronald Stein (“The Terror”, “Dementia 13”, “Journey to the 7^th Planet”) music score, one of his better jobs. All we get are some regular sharks (pretty small-looking at times, actually, suggesting that the sharks above ground had much smaller underwater stunt doubles), one of whom is a god named Kangaroa, which is just moronic.

 

It’s seriously malnourished nonsense, and lazy filmmaking, particularly in the screenwriting department (Though the sound FX are pretty rank too, clanging chains sound all-too like popcorn popping!). It goes to all of the obvious places, and abandons anything that could’ve been remotely interesting. Hell, even the girls aren’t terribly attractive. I’m pretty sure Ms. Lisa Montell is wearing boot polish, which doesn’t help. She’s Polish not Hawaiian, whilst Russian-born Jeanne Gerson is quite clearly not a ‘native’, either. She may remind you a bit of the great Maria Ouspenskaya, but her ‘We smoke ‘em peace pipe. Many fire’ speech pattern is appalling and silly. The beefcake factor is far more worthwhile than the cheesecake factor here (Stars Cord and Durant never wear shirts at any point in the film), and unfortunately, dudes just aren’t my thing. Bill Cord and Don Durant are supposed to be brothers here but don’t look remotely alike. Mr. Durant is also an absolutely awful actor (He, unlike Mr. Cord, went nowhere after this).

 

The B&W cinematography by Floyd Crosby (Who did excellent work on Corman’s Poe films like “Fall of the House of Usher” and “The Pit and the Pendulum”), meanwhile, looks far better above ground than underwater, and even then the scenery is doing pretty much all the work. It looks like the whole thing was shot at 4PM during a period of overcast weather, it isn’t just a print issue, though I have no doubt print quality plays a part (You don’t think anyone would bother restoring this do you?). Nope, it’s more likely an issue of Corman wanting to get the film in the can ASAP to appease AIP. It was directed by someone who just wanted to get it done (And you can tell it’s the lesser of two films shot on the same locations, as Corman was wont to do. Here the other film was “Naked Paradise”). I’m pretty sure I saw the boom mic at the top of the frame in one scene with Broken English Woman and the two ‘brahs’. Corman, should know better than that, and undoubtedly doesn’t look back on this film terribly fondly (It barely gets a mention in his must-have autobiography).

 

Worst of all? Sylvia Syms, of all people, strangling a cat over the opening credits in the guise of singing a song called ‘Nearer My Love to You’. Oh, and the title makes no goddamn sense whatsoever. Originally titled “Shark Reef” (which is a bit better), the women here aren’t gods, sharks are. What the hell? How the hell did no one notice this? You keep watching this film to see where it’s all headed, but once you realise the potentially interesting corporation stuff isn’t going to be paid off, you feel cheated and angry. It’s capped off by an absolutely pissweak, wet fart of an ending. Wow, this is just shoddy stuff.

 

Rating: D+