The summer of 2014 saw the release of a highly anticipated sequel. No, not 22 Jump Street or Transformers 4. I'm referring to Sharknado 2: The Second One, the even-more-outrageous successor to 2013's Sharknado. In spite of the ludicrous title, which doubles as a concise plot summary, Sharknado attracted more viewers than any other program in SyFy channel's illustrious history. Attempting to emulate their previous success, SyFy re-booted the franchise for the following summer, this time hiring a slew of peripheral celebrities to join the original cast. SyFy promoted the release heavily through Twitter hashtags, Subway drink cups, and billboards. The hashtags exploded on twitter, and the film attracted millions of viewers, but mention of the film was often accompanied by confusion or incredulity. One Twitter user, @GregVince, wrote: "OK the Sharknado tweets are starting. I'm going to log off and mourn the human race." Coupled with its seeming popularity, the public derision of Sharknado 2 elucidates a central problem in analyzing the "Sharknado" films. Are they deliberately awful? And if so-- if they are intended to parodize the monster movie genre-- are they effective as parodies? Most people would agree that Sharknado 2 is an awful movie by every conventional standard. But if it is meant to be ironic, which it very much appears to be, the ultimate question then remains: Is Sharknado 2 a "good" movie? The answer is of course subjective, but in order to examine the question we must begin by exploring just what makes a good movie, and more specifically a good parody, in the first place.
In his famous work De Poetica, Aristotle draws a rubric for the function of dramatic narratives, a format that has been studied and replicated ever since. In this work, Aristotle asserts that narrative pleasure derives from learning, which is accomplished through plot and "mimesis," the faithful imitation of reality. Aristotle identifies many aspects of tragedy and comedy, but he claims also that everything is tangential to the plot. The plot, more than anything else, will provide the meaning, and therefore the pleasure, of a dramatic work. To Aristotle, the climax of any mimetic work should produce a "katharsis," a term which has been argued over for centuries due to Aristotle's cursory explanation. Many scholars subscribe to a more "medicinal" definition of the word, arguing that "katharsis" is the literal purgation of pity and fear, just as "catheters" are used for the literal purgation of bodily fluids. However, Leon Golden in an essay for Classical Philology, convincingly argues that Aristotle intended for his term katharsis to represent an intellectual clarification, particularly one taking place at the climax of a mimetic work, and that the purgation of pity and fear results from this clarification.
Aristotle asserts that learning provides the greatest pleasure that can be attained by man, followed closely by imitation, the method by which we learn. "No less universal [than learning] is the pleasure felt in things imitated," he writes. "We have evidence of this in the facts of experience. Objects which in themselves we view with pain, we delight to contemplate when reproduced with minute fidelity: such as the forms of the most ignoble animals and of dead bodies. The cause of this again is that to learn gives the liveliest pleasure." Aristotle, here, is emphasizing the importance of accurate imitation, mimesis, or-- to use a more modern term-- verisimilitude. Golden draws on this same quote in his essay, arguing cogently that katharsis must represent learning attained through imitation. Otherwise, judging by Aristotle's characterization of man, it couldn't be the greatest pleasure attained from a dramatic work.
When considered in this light, Aristotle's rubric for drama bears an interesting resemblance to modern-day theories of humor, and humor, of course, is essential to parody. Numerous studies have vaulted "Benign Violation Theory" into the forefront of humor research. According to the theory, which attempts to pin down the raw elements of hilarity, humor can only occur in the presence of three conditions: 1) something threatens our sense of how the world "ought to be" 2) the threatening situation seems benign 3) we see both interpretations simultaneously. Tickling is an oft-used example, although it is a physical violation in addition to a moral one, and the laughter it induces appears to be qualitatively different than the laughter produced by, say, watching South Park or The Simpsons. The pleasure of comedy derives from the intellect, in a similar manner to Aristotle's katharsis. To demonstrate with a personal example, I recently watched Will Ferrell do an impression of George W. Bush on Saturday Night Live, and the funniest part of the speech, for me, came when Ferrell lamented the fact that "President Cheney" "never let him do anything." I found this particularly hilarious, because at the time of my viewing I had recently perused a book called Takeover, which portrayed Cheney as a monster that hijacked the White House. Whether or not this portrayal was an accurate one, Cheney's hypothetical power over Bush floated around in my head as a persistent violation of my morals, and by presenting this concern straight from the mouth of a wise-cracking, O'Doule's drinking George Bush, Ferrell managed to render my fear benign and generate a genuine intellectual pleasure. Combining imitation and insight, the cast members of Saturday Night Live routinely force us to question our morals and preconceived notions, in other words, to learn. In doing so, they are unwittingly applying Benign Violation Theory as well as Aristotle's katharsis, as the two concepts are intimately intertwined.
However, "BVT" is not our only reputable theory of humor, and we need a comprehensive, all- encompassing methodology in order to make a fair appraisal of Sharknado 2. In 2011, three researchers, Hurley, Dennett and Adams, published a book titled Inside Jokes, reviewing previous theories of humor and many specific jokes. They suggest that humor evolved because it strengthens the ability of the brain to find mistakes in active belief structures. For them, humor is the pleasure of detecting mistaken reasoning. Far from convoluting our discussion, we find that this theoretical form of pleasure is compatible with Benign Violation Theory and is remarkably similar-- if not equivalent-- to the pleasure of learning Aristotle attributes to katharsis. In fact, the concept of katharsis provides a bridge between these two competing theories of humor, and in doing so it can help us to further articulate the ingredients of a successful parody, the ultimate rubric with which we may judge Sharknado 2: The Second One.
In any given narrative there is a character with a conflict, which is a more concise way of saying a character with something threatening his or her "sense of how the world ought to be." The entire plot, then, can be construed as a protagonist's efforts to render a threatening situation benign. In order to attain this goal, the character must employ some strategy, and we as an audience instinctively judge the practicality of this strategy. If their strategy appears perfect, we generally assume they will succeed in their mission. Take the majority of Hollywood movies, for example. Our heroes are so strong-willed, courageous, and physically powerful that we are often assured of their victory before we even reach the theater. At first glance, the popularity of this structure may seem to contradict Aristotle's theory that learning is the greatest pleasure in drama, but Aristotle also notes that the other principle pleasure is of imitation. By watching smart, confident, sexy heroes, we vicariously experience their moral and physical superiority.
In most movies, novels, and plays, however, the strategy of the protagonist is at least slightly flawed, and we as an audience are cued into these flaws in order to create tension. Johnny is an alcoholic trying to write a book. Carl wants to save his marriage, but he can't stop cheating on his wife. Oedipus wants to find the source of a curse, but he himself has brought the curse upon Thebes. Victims of mistaken reasoning, the adaptability of these protagonists will determine their fate. A narrative climax generally consists of one final test of strategy. If our hero can detect and correct their own mistaken reasoning (which is the evolutionary purpose of humor, according to Inside Jokes), we presume that they will be successful.
It is intuitive that novelty and logical consistency are essential to narrative, to learning, and, consequently, to kathartic pleasure. If the audience finds an ending illogical, thematically irrelevant, or-- shall we say-- "poetically unjust," the verisimilitude will be broken and the imitation of reality rendered unsuccessful. Tragedy or comedy, a story's ending will be benign to the audience so long as it is logically consistent, so long as we feel that the protagonist deserves whatever he or she gets. Romeo and Juliet, for example, may not deserve to die in any moral sense, but the ending is still fair by virtue of the circumstantial logic Shakespeare has devised. Meanwhile, if the ending is unoriginal or easy to predict, the absence of learning or "intellectual clarification" will thwart any kathartic pleasure. Learning, the basis of katharsis, is equivalent to a detection of mistaken reasoning. In the context of narrative, this mistaken reasoning poses a threat to a protagonist and, by extension, to the audience. Learning and kathartic pleasure occur when a narrative reveals a novel solution to the mistaken reasoning, rendering a threat benign with an unexpected, but logical, conclusion.
As we have now seen, the concept of katharsis treads upon the exact same semantic territory as modern day theories of humor. However, few people burst into laughter after reading Hamlet or watching Citizen Kane. The reason, curiously, lies in the timing. In order to illicit laughter, according to Benign Violation Theory, the subject must perceive something as threatening and benign simultaneously. Yet, in an unironic plot, the contrasting perceptions can only exist independently of each other. To render a threat benign in the context of a serious narrative is to eliminate the threat entirely. The two interpretations, threatening and benign, may only coexist if the threat is regarded ironically. This, of course, can take many forms. A character may make a joke at the antagonist's expense (think of Bruce Willis's quips in the movie Die Hard or Arnold Schwarzenegger's quips in just about anything), or, as is the case in Sharknado and Sharknado 2, antagonists may be a joke in and of themselves.
In the context of an ironic narrative-- a parody-- it is entirely possible for a dramatic climax to achieve both humor and katharsis simultaneously. In fact, an ideal parody should employ irony to exactly that end. Irony and parody, it should be noted, are inseparable and, in fact, very nearly synonymous. Irony is the simultaneous presence of a literal meaning and its opposite. Much like humor in general, irony relies on inverting preconceived notions, and regarding both interpretations simultaneously. Parody is an imitation of serious work, intended to ridicule or satirize something already in the public consciousness, so it too relies upon the inversion of preconceived notions and the simultaneous perception of both interpretations. A successful parody, then, should accurately yet facetiously imitate serious subject matter, trivializing the source material by exposing its mistaken reasoning. Ideally, a dramatic parody should employ an ironic, dual-natured katharsis-- a superficial lesson with a deeper, more profound lesson buried within.
Armed with this new understanding of plot, humor, and parody, we finally have the resources to investigate, and ultimately answer, our initial question: Is Sharknado 2: The Second One a parody? And if so, can it then be considered a "good" movie? The first part of the question may seem obvious from the title, but many people were duped into believing that the film represented a serious catastrophe film. This isn't all that surprising when you consider the films SyFy channel has been known to air. Ice Spiders, Anaconda 3: Offspring, Sharktopus-- all of these films approach the Sharknado films in terms of their absurdity. In spite of its similarity to other, "more serious" SyFy channel programming, Sharknado 2 is undeniably an attempt at a parody. For starters, the cast is comprised of a wide range of reputable actors and celebrities who, presumably, would never be enticed to jeopardize their careers on such a film if it weren't meant to be ironic. Vivica A. Fox, Judd Hirsch, Richard Kind, Kelly Ripa, Michael Strahan, Andy Dick, and Robert Hays (among many others) join Sharknado veterans Tara Reid and Ian Ziering in this cinematic exploration of absurdity.
The comedic intentions of the film are apparent from the get-go, as the opening scene pays homage to David Zucker's 1980 disaster farce Airplane!, whilst parodizing the famous William Shatner Twilight Zone episode "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet." Robert Hays, star of Airplane!, is the pilot of an aircraft carrying our heroes, Fin and April Wexler (Ziering and Reid), who have become celebrities following the events of Sharknado. Our ironically-named protagonist, Fin, believes he sees a shark on the wing of the plane, though he is convinced by April and a US Marshal that he is merely hallucinating. The scene bears an obvious resemblance to the aforementioned Twilight Zone episode, in which Shatner's character believes he sees a monstrous creature on the wing of his aircraft and is accused by a US Marshal of "crying wolf."
The Sharknado films are indeed parodies, but what film or class of films do they attempt to lampoon? We cannot discern any individual film, so the broader target must be monster and catastrophe movies in general, perhaps more specifically of the class made popular by SyFy Channel itself. For years, SyFy Channel has dedicated its Saturday programming to an endless stream of monster movies. Advertised as "SyFy Saturdays," these lineups frequently incorporate marginally popular Hollywood films such as Jeepers Creepers, Children of the Corn, and The Hills Have Eyes 2, which shine like nuggets of gold when placed between made-for-TV titles like Sharktopus, Boa vs. Python 2, and Category 7: The End of the World. Most Saturdays feature the premiere of a new monster or catastrophe film, invariably a low-budget made-for-TV movie, and more than likely a "SyFy Channel Original." These films are-- almost always-- awesomely, spectacularly bad movies, complete with gaping plot holes, low-budget gore, questionable dialogue, and often a washed-up celebrity or two.
Discerning Sharknado's mission gets even more perplexing when you consider the other films churned out by its production company, The Asylum. SyFy Channel's recently acquired ally, this Baton Rouge-based production company has turned many heads thanks to its shameless, straight-to-DVD rip- offs of Hollywood movies, always strategically released right after the theater run of its source material; Transmorphers right after Transformers, Battle of Los Angeles after Battle: Los Angeles, The Day the Earth Stopped after The Day the Earth Stood Still, and the list goes on and on. The company has faced three separate trademark and copyright infringement law suits, resulting from the films American Warships (changed from American Battleship), Age of the Hobbits, and The Day the Earth Stopped. On one hand, these films undeniably ride the coattails of their predecessors and are rip-offs in that sense, but it is not implausible that they, like the Sharknado films, could be made deliberately bad to attract more viewers. Presumably, only a small percentage of people are duped into believing the films are really their box office counter parts (although, I myself once turned on Transmorphers by mistake), but calling them parodies seems, to me, unwarranted, as their deficits do not reflect the deficits of the films they mirror. In order to rope in B-movie fanatics like myself, The Asylum might be repeatedly creating the illusion of a "serious" rip-off, whilst deliberately heightening the absurdity. Having personally watched The Asylum's Mega Piranha (released 2010 in synchronicity with Piranhas 3D), I still cannot say with absolute conviction whether the shoddy editing, lackluster special effects, and preposterous script were the product of a multifaceted commercial ruse, extreme laziness, or some combination of the two. My gut, however, suggests the latter.
In trying to parodize films that are already considered subpar, perhaps even deliberately subpar if we include The Asylum's own body of work, Sharknado and Sharknado 2 director Anthony Ferrante faces a significant challenge. The effectiveness of parody lies in the novelty of its ridicule, but the Sharknado films attempt to parodize a class of films that are already widely regarded as ridiculous. In order to achieve effective humor, the gags of Sharknado 2 will have to employ irony to demonstrate something unexpected about their subject matter. Likewise, in order to achieve an effective katharsis, the resolution of Sharknado 2's plot must also demonstrate something unexpected about this vaguely- defined category of bad films.
The plot of Sharknado 2, so eloquently summarized in the title, cuts right to the chase. In the opening scene of the movie, Fin's plane flies into a massive Category Five hurricane filled with sharks. The sharks, animated by remarkably cheesy CGI, have supposedly been lifted from the ocean by high winds, and they waste no time in tearing the plane to pieces. They whiz deftly through the cabin, decapitating hapless passengers left and right. The captain, played by Robert Hays, is sucked out of the plane while trying to rescue a stewardess, which prompts our hero Fin to land the plane in the manner of Hays' character in the film Airplane! While Fin lands the plane, his ex-wife April is using the U.S. Marshal's gun to shoot at the continuous onslaught of sharks, including a determined, scar-bearing shark that manages to bite off April's hand, gun and all.
Fin successfully lands the plane and joins April in the hospital. She expresses a concern that the airborne assailant remembered her from somewhere, that, perhaps, it was the very same shark she maimed in the middle of the first movie. The loss of April's hand will provide the basis for the only character development present in the movie. As I mentioned in our explication of katharsis, physical or strategical flaws are often the primary sources of narrative tension. Here, Fin's goal is to coax April into re-marrying him whilst rescuing New York from disaster. April's physical flaw introduces tension because, from her own perspective, Fin will now find her less attractive. This tension is ostensibly exacerbated by the arrival of Skye (Vivica A. Fox), Fin's sexually-aggressive high school girlfriend. His intent remaining steadfastly upon saving New York, Fin makes no attempt to return her advances and doesn't demonstrate any moral or strategical flaws that might make things more interesting. Of course, this may be one of the shortcomings Sharknado 2 wishes to highlight about bad films, but, if so, the implication goes largely unnoticed.
The climax of the plot occurs as three distinct sharknadoes converge on the Empire State Building and merge into a super-sharknado. After a rousing speech, Fin, who has been separated from April, ascends the tower with Skye in hopes that the two of them can throw a bomb into the super- tornado and disable it, the same strategy he employed successfully at the end of the first film. Unfortunately, the tornado is "too cold" and the plan doesn't work. He devises a new plan: detonate a tank of "Freon" and freeze the tornado. He and Skye work together to detonate the tank, and April arrives donning a circular saw prosthetic arm. Skye is killed by a flying shark, resolving any concerns that Fin might choose her over April. The plan works, the tornado dissolves instantly, and Fin and April presumably live happily-ever-after until the inevitable release of Sharknado 3.
We are hoping for a dual-natured katharsis, a superficial revelation with a more profound lesson embedded within. By my judgment, neither is accomplished effectively. Fin has no flaws in his character, no mistaken reasoning that he needs to correct. From the outset, we assume that he will succeed in defeating the storm and end up with April. Consequently, Fin's victory over the storm and Skye's sudden death both lack the irony the filmmakers surely intended to create. As an audience, we never consider the possibility that Fin will end up with Skye, and thus Skye's abrupt death lacks the surprise, significance, and ultimately the humor that director Anthony Ferrante intended for it to carry. The chosen method of defeating the storm is admittedly ridiculous, but it is simply an inversion of the previous film's conclusion and, consequently, lacks the novelty we need for a successful katharsis.
The lack of verisimilitude and the triumphant failure of the film to produce a katharsis more or less represent the meaning of the film, the dual-meaning we expect from a parody. "Bad movies are bad," Sharknado 2 seems to inform us. What can we glean from this ending that we don't already know about bad films? Ultimately, Sharknado 2 fails to produce any katharsis, much less a dual- natured one, as the only meaning embedded in the climax has already been exhaustively explored in every scene of the film. Without novelty, we have not corrected any mistaken reasoning, there is no learning to be had, and thus the climax of Sharknado 2 is largely devoid of humor, pleasure, or katharsis.
"This is a twister with teeth. 'Nuff said."
"Enough said indeed, Al."
This seemingly-metafictional exchange between Al Roker and Matt Lauer embodies the entire problem with Sharknado 2. The film's theme and virtually all of its humor depend on a single joke, a joke that is reiterated ad nauseum between two feature-length films and already readily apparent in the title of those films. It may be unfair for us to expect kathartic pleasure from a parody of bad movies, but, in order to create any humor at all, we must derive this learning based pleasure from somewhere. Unfortunately, the omnipresent inanity of Sharknado 2 is largely devoid of surprise.
"That's how you hit the ball! You see it and you whack it!" cries Fin's baseball-loving companion, a joke that is representative of the "humor" pervading the entire script. By applying Benign Violation Theory to this joke, we can see what it attempts to accomplish and why it ultimately fails to entertain. The filmmakers wish to create an expectation of baseball insight, and then surprise us with "you see it and you whack it," benignly violating our sense of how the line ought to be. However, in a deliberately bad movie there is absolutely no surprise in such a deviation from logic. There is no expectation of insight, and consequently there is no threat to our sense of how things ought to be, benign or otherwise. Cheap puns like "I don't think Fin is going to bite" pervade the script, yet, once again, they lack the surprise and insight that is necessary to illicit laughter. Gags such as Fin "jumping the shark" will go unnoticed for some viewers, but will grow downright tiresome for viewers who have already watched Fin "jump the shark" in Sharknado. "All you can do is just shake your head," Matt Lauer tells us, and in the end he is absolutely right-- but for all the wrong reasons.
The widespread presence of celebrities also undermines the humor of Sharknado 2, as the movie attempts to parodize films that could never hope to attract such big names. In Sharknado there was a moderate humor in casting Tara Reid and Home Alone father John Heard, as one could imagine the two as washed up actors begrudgingly participating in a horrible movie. In Sharknado 2, the star- power is used to lend the film credibility, and in doing so spoils the verisimilitude, the illusion that we are watching a low-budget catastrophe film. Sharknado 2 is doomed from the beginning by its own intentions, its own self-awareness. From the perspective of Benign Violation Theory, there is no sense that "things aren't as they ought to be," as we are well aware that the filmmakers have deliberately chosen all the aspects that "aren't as they ought to be."
Ultimately, low budget sci-fi movies serve as more effective parodies of themselves than the Sharknado films do. Take the 2005 SyFy Original Movie Pterodactyl, for example. Pterodactyl's most notable actor is 90's rapper Coolio, of "Gangsta's Paradise" fame. His presence in this film is made all the more inexplicable, not to mention humorous, by the inane script that he and the other actors struggle to bring to life. The humor and charm of Pterodactyl, and of the class of films it represents, lie in the evident naivety of its producers. As an audience, we simultaneously perceive the intent of these wayward filmmakers, as well as the lamentable results of their labor. We mentally juxtapose the intent with the outcome, and we are tickled by a benign sensation that things are not at all as they ought to be.
A similar delight can be found in Sony Pictures' Anaconda 3: Offspring, in which David Hasselhoff portrays a mustachioed snake hunter, called in to track down a cancer research facility's spike-tailed super-snakes, which have escaped into the surrounding jungle. Why the company decided to corral these creatures with paper-thin glass cages remains a mystery. How they had any medical use for these Franken-snakes also remains a mystery, but there in lies the beauty of the film. Because of the earnest intentions of the filmmakers, each logical flaw, each preposterous line of dialogue, and each gratuitously gory dismemberment possesses infinitely more novelty than the gags of Sharknado 2. We can take pleasure in knowing that we have discovered these absurdities ourselves, that no one has placed them there deliberately for us to find. The black, spike-tailed anacondas were presumably scripted this way so that they would seem "cool" or more frightening, and we can find a rich irony in the fact that there is no logical basis to justify the presence of these biological abnormalities. The film's greatest achievement comes around the fifty-minute mark, when Hasselhoff's jeep is flipped over by one of the snakes. Hasselhoff and his companion hide inside their ruined vehicle, tensely listening for the monster's movement. At this precise moment, a crew member can be seen ambling between trees in the not-too-distant background. The earnest attempt at verisimilitude and tension, coupled with the complete and utter lack of both elements, results in a profound and hilarious irony that Sharknado 2 repeatedly fails to achieve.
Of course, my assessment of Sharknado 2 is plagued by a seemingly pervasive contradiction. If the film is truly as stale I suggest, how on Earth did it manage to attract millions of viewers, not just once, but three broadcast in a row? The premiere of Sharknado 2 attracted an estimated 3.9 million viewers, an increase of more than 180% from SyFy's previous record of 2.1 million, which was held by Sharknado. The success is partly attributable to a huge advertising campaign that cleverly used Twitter as its main vehicle. Sharknado 2 was promoted on TV spots, posters, billboards, and Subway drink cups, and in all of these locations Twitter "hashtags" were displayed, enticing people to join in the conversation and unwittingly advertise the film to a larger audience. By marketing itself as a major event, something everyone should be talking about, Sharknado 2 was able to create a legitimate event out of thin air. To stoke the social media fire, SyFy posted live "tweets" at the foot of their broadcast, suggesting to viewers that their own humorous commentary might land them on national television and cause their Twitter popularity to explode. In a six hour period, Sharknado 2 generated more than 581,000 unique tweets from 188,000 individual authors, and became the highest trending hashtag on Twitter. Breaching the hashtag "top ten list" leads to self-perpetuating popularity and interest, as every Twitter user must inevitably see this ranking, regardless of whether they or their friends decide to join in the conversation. There is undoubtedly a mild amusement to be found in the concept behind the Sharknado films, and it seems that this absurd premise alone was enough to carry the second installment into the social media stratosphere. Couple this marketing campaign with The Asylum's tried and true method of churning out faux-serious films, and it is no surprise that Sharknado 2 piqued America's interest, particularly amongst viewers who thought they were watching a "real" or "serious" movie. SyFy tried to promote this belief by staging interviews with cast members like Tara Reid, who stated with faux-seriousness that Sharknadoes were a plausible danger and a cause for concern. The obvious marketing ploy did not stop people from sharing the video and laughing at what they perceived to be Reid's stupidity.
@theLadyGrantham writes, weeks prior to the film's premiere, "America, the empire gave you tea, civilization, and the English language, and you responded with #Sharknado" Whether or not this user "gets" the joke, every tweet about the movie-- whether snarky criticisms, witty anecdotes, or legitimate criticisms-- all inevitably serve to promote the film and keep it in the public focus. Saying that Sharknado 2 is a "bad" film merely serves to strengthen the basis of its marketing strategy, a marketing strategy that The Asylum has evidently perfected after lots and lots of practice.
Perhaps it is unfair to call Sharknado 2 a failure. In terms of its commercial success, it achieved its goal and then some, and it remains firmly rooted in the public consciousness to this day. While we may be the pawns of a clever marketing ploy, the popularity of the film is testament to its entertainment value, even if that entertainment value stems more from the concept and conversation than the film itself. In the end, Sharknado 2: The Second One provides little in the way of humor, insight, or effective parody, but, as its popularity suggests, sometimes these ingredients are unnecessary. Sharknado 2 remains, to me, an insoluble enigma, as it lies in a murky region between parody and emulation, between ironic stupidity and earnest, naive stupidity, yet it still has captured the American imagination and signified a new, more lucrative direction for "SyFy Original" movies. How long this strategy can last, only time will tell. Eventually, the American public may catch on to the contrivance of the Sharknado spectacle, and perhaps then SyFy will rediscover its roots, rediscover the innocent beauty of an earnestly terrible film.
Cover Photo: Image Source
