Before we begin, I’d like you to try something: Turn to the first 10-year-old kid you can find — yours, somebody else’s … it doesn’t matter — and in your best raspy, Michael Corleone voice whisper, “I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!” OK, see that blank stare you’re getting in response? That look should tell you all you need to know about the merits of “Shark Tale.” But since I get paid by the word, I’ll tell you a little more.
“Shark Tale.” — Oh, You broke my heart. You broke my heart!
As movies about marauding deep-sea predators go, “Shark Tale” bites. Of course, this PG-rated animated feature from DreamWorks isn’t intended to terrify audiences like, say, “Jaws” or “Open Water,” but what is pretty scary is the film-makers’ apparent indifference to the appetites of the children who will be filling the seats opening weekend. “Shark Tale” boasts top-notch animation and a cast full of names that look mighty impressive on the poster, but in sending up classic mob films such as “The Godfather” and “Scarface,” directors Vicky Jenson, Bibo Bergeron and Rob Letterman seem to have lost sight of an important detail: Little kids don’t know those movies. So as a slew of one-liners pilfered from those bloody fossils fell upon the deaf ears of the tykes at the screening I attended, an obvious question emerged — “Who was this movie made for?” Fans of a histrionic Will Smith, perhaps? People who always wondered what it would be like to watch the normally very funny Jack Black struggle for laughs playing an ambiguously gay shark? There’s much else to find fault with here: Martin Scorcese’s blowfish gives old school rap a try (yes, it IS as awful as you might imagine), as the Great White “Godfather,” Robert DeNiro makes us an offer we can’t help but refuse; Ziggy Marley and Doug E. Doug disoblige the Rasta community, playing sadistic stoner jellyfish; and, most inexcusably, the animators somehow managed to make the fish voiced by Renee Zellweger and Angelina Jolie look like something you’d throw back into the drink. (Rated PG for some mild language and crude humor. Running time: 89 minutes)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on October 1, 2004. Read the original PDF.