If one thing bugged me about 2018’s The Meg, it was the fact that the movie was frustratingly inconsistent when it came to letting the throttle out and fully embracing the maximum craziness that a movie about Jason Statham brawling with a 60 foot shark sould surely contain by law. Yet somehow, the movie took a big enough chomp of the box office to warrant a sequel and luckily, Steve Alton, the author of the source material, apparently had a lot to say about gargantuan death-fish – to date there are six Meg novels – and so we now get Meg 2: The Trench.
However, what peaked my interest this time wasn’t just the prospect of another round of Enormo-Jaws, but the director named to helm the thing than none other than indie darling Ben Wheatley who has spent the lion’s share of his career delivering challenging and off-beat oddities such as Kill List, A Field In England and In The Earth. Could this bizarre match up provide us with the most interesting shark movie since Jaws?
Well, maybe that’s asking it to bite off a little more than it can chew…
Since the time when a prehistoric super shark escaped the natural barrier that kept it separated within the depths of the Mariana Trench, things have changed. While still spending most of his time split between piloting subs for undersea research station Mana 1 and punching out the crew of ships that dump toxic waste in the oceans as a two-fisted eco-warrior, Jonas Taylor is also, somehow, an adopted father to young Meiying, whose mother, Suyin, has since died for some reason or another. Elsewhere, the research centre, under the benevolent eye of Meiying’s uncle, Jiuming, has actually managed to raise a Megaladon in captivity and not only has he named her Haiqi, but he’s convinced that he can tame her using some of that Chris Pratt, clicky business from Jurassic World.
However, a routine dive that sees Jonas, Jiuming, Meiying and a whole bunch of edible looking supporting cast members, goes horribly awry when Haiqi escapes and follows them down into the prehistoric basement of the Mariana Trench as she’s apparently in heat and is looking for eligible, 70-foot bachelors in her area.
As she finds them in the form of two, massive, male Megs, Jonas and the gang find that a secret mining operation has been set up at the bottom of the trench to shamelessly plunder natural resources and involves a ruthless mole being among the staff of Mana 1. However, while the good guys try to avoid either drowning, getting blown up by evil miners, explosive decompression, or getting eaten by any of the number of vicious sea bastards that lurk in the trench that time forgot, they strive to make it back to the surface as alive as they possibly can. However, when they do, they’re inevitably followed mot only by the three Megs, but some of the other voracious wildlife that can wait to sample a more human-centric diet.
To be frank, if Meg 2 was any dumber, it would need to apply for assisted living just to help it get to the crapper in time and anyone hoping that Wheatley has made a movie that deconstructs the summer blockbuster from within in his typically atypical style is simply going to be shit out of luck. Maybe Wheatley, trusted with a budget infinitely bigger than he’s ever had before, simply wanted to toe the company line and just didn’t want to make any waves (figuratively speaking of course), or maybe – and more likely – he was so excited to be playing in such a goofy sanbox, he just wanted to riff on as many other blockbusters as he possibly could in case the chance never arose again. Either way, those hoping that Wheatley would do something unexpected will not only be disappointed, but actually dismayed that the first hour is so derivative.
In a world where Megaladons are apparently not that big a deal anymore, the script bizarrely abandons them almost entirely when the focus of the film shifts takes matters into the gloomy depths of the titular trench and it takes an approach more akin to the first Jurassic Park sequel, The Lost World. The trio of Megs are a threat, sure, but the real villains turn out to be a an unscrupulous fat cat and their gang of oiled up mercenaries who are doubling up on the tech of Mana 1 in order to plunder the natural resources at the bottom of the sea. Add to that a marauding, handsy octopus and a cadre of sabre-toothed salamander thingies and the Megs become weirdly in danger of becoming an after thought in their own franchise as the first half of the movie focuses more on the human threat than that of a trio of monster fish that between them could easily devour the population of Wales while still leaving room for desert.
Shamelessly riffing of the far more tense seawall from Underwater and then throwing in random nods to Die Hard and even Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom, the opening hour is gloomy, plodding stuff that, if anything, makes the first Meg seem way better than it actually was, however, once the sequel finally manages to reach the surface for its second half, things thankfully shift gears to help the flick become the deranged, chomp-fest you always hoped it could be.
As the various, hefty predators from the deep converge on the ironically named Fun Island, everyone is given far more to do. Certainly, Statham gets to strut his stuff, either fleeing a Meg as it noshes the pier he’s standing on; hurtling off of tidal waves on a jet ski while wielding exploding, homemade spear; booting the odd bad guy into the mouth of a shark while growling the legend: “See you later, chum.”, but elsewhere, Chinese actor Jing Wu gets to tangle with an octopus, Cliff Curtis and Page Kennedy gets to forge a very funny double act and Sienna Guillroy plays her thoroughly evil CEO as like she’s the evil Queen from Snow White. Also, purged from the gloomy, hour long set up, Wheatley suddenly springs to life, staging numerous jump scares, ridiculous acts of heroism and memorably staged carnage (the shot from inside the mouth of a Meg as it chumps on fleeing swimmers us a gas).
Less a coherent film and more of a literal funhouse ride, Wheatley fanatics and filmgoers still cooing over Oppenheimer will no doubt be horrified at the unfocused dopiness in display here (at one moment, Statham swims 25,000 feet below sea level without a suit and we’re supposed to buy it because he did something funky with his sinuses), but despite somehow being both better and worse than its predecessor, unleash your inner twelve year old and this ludicrous explosion of camp and teeth earns its existence.
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