Malibu Shark Attack: A Bumpy Ride on the Waves of Nostalgia

I saw Malibu Shark Attack the other night and boy, was it a trip! You know, those times when you just need some mindless fun? This was that. Directed by David Lister, who isn’t exactly a household name, but by golly, he brings the sharks into play like they’re about to start a punk band. Oh, and speaking of bands, that’s what felt weirdly like watching a concert where the lead guitarist—our infamous sharks—steals the show.

Honestly, it’s a movie packed with B-movie charm, the kind that makes you roll your eyes yet smirk at the same time. From the familiar face of Peta Wilson, who usually handles scripts with a bit more edge, to the snarling sharks that frankly look like they need a holiday themselves. There’s something lovable in its absurdity. And let’s be real, I don’t think anyone’s watching Malibu Shark Attack expecting high art.

One thing that keeps me giggling is that memory from Gothenburg’s Liseberg. Standing in line for Balder, Sweden’s famous wooden roller coaster, feeling that mix of excitement and dread. Watching this film sort of gave me that feeling, except my seat didn’t move, and the only risk was hitting pause.

And can we talk about the plot holes? There’s something immensely satisfying about spotting them, like finding a few lingonberries on a waffle. It reminds me that sometimes, films don’t need to be perfect. They need to be an experience, one you can watch with friends and commentate over, like a bunch of Swedish relatives arguing about which köttbulle recipe is best.

For a lazy Sunday afternoon laugh, it does the trick. Just don’t think about it too much—or at all, really.

Check the trailer below