A surfer named Zephyr (Hassie Harrison) is abducted by a seafaring serial killer called Tucker (Jai Courtney) who feeds his victims to sharks, in this survival horror flick they should have called The Silence of the Clams.

This shark attack/serial killer mashup has more meat on its bones than your average chumfest, but the film flounders between cheesy shark schlock and arthouse-baiting thriller. Any attempts at cleverness are torpedoed by its goofy kiss-off lines (“Ooby dooby, motherfucker!”), on-the-nose needle drops, regurgitated serial killer clichés, and an incongruous love story between Zephyr and a real estate agent she just met (Josh Heuston), who insists on talking about their relationship when they’re on the brink of becoming surf and turf, respectively.
Courtney is a great white ham as the diving guide committed to Tracy Jordan’s advice to live every week like its shark week, proving himself the true dangerous animal of the title by chewing more scenery than all the sharks combined. Tucker is compiled of cast-offs from other movie psychos, spewing pretentious monologues about sharks and predators and how he and Zephyr are not so different, dancing around in a robe, and generally putting the bait in Patrick Bateman. His openly psychotic behaviour somehow goes unnoticed by his neighbour (Rob Carlton), who sends tourists onto Tucker’s boat without realising that they never come back.
The sharksploitation feature does benefit from an active, resourceful final girl in Zephyr, and you feel for her predicament as a woman stuck on a boat with a man who won’t stop banging on about fishing. Director Sean Byrne mounts some bracing, violent sequences, but the picture coasts on its escape, rinse, repeat formula, and Nick Lepard’s toothless script has a straight-to-streaming feel with its hammerheaded references to Point Break, Creedence Clearwater Revival and Baby Shark (so soon after its use in Drop). While it circles a decent hook, Dangerous Animals gets caught in Netflix fodder territory; all talk and no bite.