“Thrash,” like just about every shark thriller, has a grade-Z son-of-“Jaws” quality. (The one exception: the ingenious “Open Water.”) Everything in the movie, from the chomping shark attacks that splash up the waves with Hawaiian Punch foam to the way a humongous great white meets her fate at the end, takes an obvious page from Steven Spielberg’s gambits and techniques. But shark movies, because of that derivative quality (and because the directors are not Spielberg), often tend to be dreary and claustrophobic affairs. Whereas “Thrash” has a lively competence about it, a touch of fluid originality in the staging.

It’s set in the small town of Annieville, S.C., which in the first half hour gets subjected to a hurricane so intense it’s like a tsunami, bolstered by vintage stupido lines like, “If they ever considered creating a Category 6, this would be it. It’s a monster!” It’s all part of the film’s environmental message (the storm starts off as a Category 2 until it hits record-temperature warm waters off the coast). But once Hurricane Henry floods the town, the film’s writer-director, Tommy Wirkola, turns a submerged neighborhood block into a kind of water-world stage set, like a giant pond with the top halves of houses poking out the top. They’re places of refuge, only they keep shifting and collapsing.

The storm has brought with it a school of bull sharks, who are smaller and faster than great whites, but just as ravenous. The movie wastes no time delivering the gory goods, which are served up for our delectation like the killings in a slasher movie. If fear was once the pulse of a shark thriller, now it’s voyeurism — our chance to feast on what it looks like when a shark feasts. In this case, though, only the unappealing characters get eaten. That’s part of the lip-smacking quality of it all — the idea that certain movie characters deserve to have their limbs bitten off. 

Of the ones in “Thrash” who don’t, the most original character is Lisa (played by Phoebe Dynevor, from “Fair Play”), not because there’s anything complex in how she’s drawn, but because she’s pregnant — as in not just about to have a baby, but she’s going to have it during the movie, as she struggles to wriggle away from the sharks. That sounds precarious, and is, but once her infant son has popped out, talk about providing someone with motivation to take on nature’s predators. She’s assisted by Dakota (Whitney Peak), the film’s other, younger heroine, who at one point makes her way over a floating rooftop and rickety branches, improvising the acrobatics of survival. Dakota, whose mother recently died, is being raised by her marine-biologist uncle, played by Djimon Hounsou as the film’s token scientist-philosopher of disaster.

Wirkola, who’s Norwegian, has written a bare-bones script, but he knows how to play with space. He stages an encounter in which Ron (Stacy Clausen), a teenage okie foster child, is swimming around in a basement, with that great white on his tail, and the sequence has a delectably flowing sense of danger.

Mostly, though, we’re watching the kills come right on cue. This is a Netflix and Chomp movie, just 80 minutes long (if you don’t count the closing credits), and the compact run time does more than keep “Thrash” from wearing out its welcome. It’s part of the film’s lean-and-mean structural unity — the way it treats an entire underwater street and its houses like the shark boat in the last act of “Jaws,” as a safety zone that’s rapidly disintegrating. Ron and his two siblings have been living with foster parents who are government-sponging creeps (they eat steak in the basement while tossing their meal-ticket kids packages of Wonder Bread), and when Bob (Josh McConville), the loathsome father, gets what’s coming to him, it’s not scary — it’s closer to mutilation porn. He’s the steak, there to sate our hunger.

The Video Age was an amazing boost to the film industry. Not only did it open up a whole new marketplace for studios to sell successful films too, it also became a secondary outlet to eventually recoup losses if a film performed poorly in theaters. It even opened up some films to a wider audience.

Most Mom and Pop stores didn’t care that you weren’t seventeen and would rent you anything on their shelves, outside of those tapes behind the saloon doors in the back corner (from an industry that, let’s face it, probably profited more than any others since you no longer had to go to a gross and grimy theater), because every rental simply meant profit.

This era also expanded an already moderately active subculture: The Cult Film. Some of those movies that didn’t do well in the theaters caught on with the rental audiences, and so did some that you might not have heard about until you stepped into the store that day. Video also helped bring into your home those movies you only heard about as being shown in midnight screenings in larger cities.

There were also those that somehow became legendary through rumor. Movies whispered about in school halls or at recess. Movies that someone’s brother/cousin/friend-of-a-friend had seen at a sleepover. Movies so taboo that you’d be grounded for life if your parents found out you’d watched them. One of the most legendary of these was Faces of Death.

A documentary supposedly featuring footage of real deaths, it was the king of the no-no videos, going well beyond anything else on the Video Nasties list. Though later debunked as containing faked scenes, it still holds a solid spot in the pantheon of Cult Cinema. This being the 21st century, where any past property is fair game, we of course now have a meta-reimagining also titled Faces of Death.

Margot (Barbie Ferreira) works for Kino, an app similar to TikTok, as a content moderator. Every day she sits at her computer, watches the first moments of a video submitted for review and decides if it violates company standards or can stay on the platform.

Margot has personal reasons for doing this, having gone horribly viral in a video, and she wants to make sure the internet is a safer place. When a series of videos come across her desk featuring deaths that look too real, she tries to get her boss, Josh (Jermaine Fowler), to go further than simply banning them, but he refuses. Since no one will listen to her, she violates the terms of the company’s NDA and begins investigating them in her free time.

During her investigation, she discovers the existence of a movie called Faces of Death, and her horror-loving roommate, Ryan (Aaron Holliday), happens to have a copy. It turns out that someone is recreating scenes from the video, using the voiceover from the movie and possibly performing actual murders. That someone is Arthur (Dacre Montgomery), and Margot’s investigating puts her directly in his crosshairs.

If you’re going to do anything modern with the rights to the original Faces of Death, this is definitely the direction to go. The film is a creative look into the desensitized modern screen culture and the Insta-fame of influencers. Director Daniel Goldhaber and his co-writer Isa Mazzei, who together in the same capacities brought us the excellent Netflix film Cam, have created an interesting and surprisingly entertaining treatise on the extremes that current society can make a person go to, similar to the message behind their other film How to Blow Up a Pipeline.

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While based on such a grotesquery as Faces of Death, Goldhaber has decided to hold back on the gore created for this version. There’s still a good amount of blood, but not as much as you might expect from something carrying this brand.

Instead, the film’s more of a psychological cat-and-mouse thriller, where the emphasis is put on Margot’s investigation. Yes, through that we get to see not only Arthur’s recreations but also clips from the original video, but the filmmakers graciously curb the content shown. Plus, the slightly grainy look and the subdued lighting the Goldhaber gives to the film helps make it feel like a videotape from the 1980s, dipping us deeper into the intended effect I believe he is going for, here.

Ferreira makes for an interesting choice for a Final Girl. While she’s a beautiful woman, she’s not the person would typically get hired for this role being that she’s also plus sized. This makes her more relatable than your usual Hollywood beauty. She’s not Jamie Lee or Neve, she’s you and me, and that makes the situation she finds herself in even more frightening.

Montgomery is well cast as Arthur, too. He has the ability to put on this nerdy kind of public face, but his private persona is much more dangerous and off kilter. I look forward to viewing this where I can pause and see what videotape titles the filmmakers decided to put on the bookcase/door to his secret studio to see if that gives even more insight into Arthur’s mental state.

While it didn’t blow me away, I really had no idea what to expect from Faces of Death. So, therefore, I can honestly say that my expectations were exceeded.

An independent review of the BAFTA Film Awards has found a “number of structural weaknesses” in planning, escalation procedures, and crisis coordination before John Davidson‘s Tourette’s outburst.

Davidson, an executive producer on the BAFTA-winning I Swear, dominated headlines for weeks after involuntarily shouting the n-word as Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo presented the award for best visual effects at the 79th British Academy Film Awards on Feb. 22.

The BBC has had its own questions to answer after airing the slur despite the two-hour tape delay, and just this week also ruled the incident a breach of the broadcaster’s editorial standards. Chief content officer Kate Phillips has maintained the breach was “not intentional,” though former director-general Tim Davie was unable to say why the ceremony remained available to stream on BBC iPlayer 15 hours after the event.

On Friday, a review commissioned by the BAFTA board and carried out by RISE Associates concluded its findings on what happened and what must change. Sent to The Hollywood Reporter, the review identified “a number of structural weaknesses” across the British Academy’s planning and crisis management.

“However,” said a note from the BAFTA board, “it did not find evidence of malicious intent on the part of those involved in delivering the event. We accept its conclusions in full.”

The board continued: “We apologize unreservedly to the Black community, for whom the racist language used carries real pain, brutality, and trauma; to the disability community, including people with Tourette Syndrome, for whom this incident has led to unfair judgement, stigma, and distress; and to all our members, guests at the ceremony and those watching at home. What was supposed to be a moment of celebration was diminished and overshadowed.”

The statement added: “We have written to those directly impacted on the night to apologize.”

The review is clear that while it is “not a failure of intent,” BAFTA’s planning and processes “have not kept pace with its diversity and inclusion goals.” The board also admits they did not “adequately anticipate or fully prepare for the impact of such an incident in a live event environment and as a result our duty of care to everyone at the ceremony and watching at home fell short.”

Work is already underway to address the specific areas of improvement recommended in the review to reduce the risk of this happening again. This includes improving the escalation process and the chain of information sharing around BAFTA Awards ceremonies, strengthening how they plan for and deliver access, inclusion, and support at their events, and addressing any internal cultural gaps or lack of knowledge that “may prevent BAFTA from meeting its commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion across all our work.”

The BBC, too, has vowed to learn from their mistakes and prevent history from repeating itself. The corporation has set out measures to improve event planning, live production, and the iPlayer takedown processes.

The backlash from the incident lasted weeks. Davidson claimed he was “deeply mortified” if anyone thought his tics were “intentional.” It became a topic of discussion at the NAACP Image Awards, as well as the subject of a bad-taste SNL sketch that had The Hollywood Reporter asking: Is there a U.S.-U.K. gap on Tourette’s education?