The Requin

The sight of a thatched-roof villa drifting aimlessly across a CGI-rendered ocean is the kind of image that only the current "VOD-heavy" era of cinema could provide. There is something profoundly strange about seeing a genuine 90s icon like Alicia Silverstone—the woman who defined a generation of cool in Clueless (1995)—shrieking at a digital horizon while standing on a floating piece of floorboard. It’s the sort of cinematic experience that makes you lean back, squint at your television, and wonder how we got here.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while wearing one damp sock because I’d stepped in a small puddle in the kitchen, and honestly, the minor physical discomfort of a cold toe helped me empathize with the characters more than the screenplay ever did.

A Floating Postcard from the Green Screen

The Requin (French for "The Shark") is a product of our modern streaming landscape, where a recognizable name and a high-concept hook (sharks!) can bypass the traditional theatrical gauntlet. Directed by Le Van Kiet, who previously dazzled action fans with the gritty, neon-soaked Vietnamese martial arts film Furie (2019), this is a significant departure. Unfortunately, it’s a departure into a world that feels entirely manufactured.

The story follows Jaelyn (Alicia Silverstone) and Kyle (James Tupper), a couple attempting to heal from a recent personal tragedy with a luxury getaway in Vietnam. When a massive tropical storm rips their overwater villa from its moorings and drags it out to sea, the "romantic getaway" becomes a desperate fight for survival. For the first forty minutes, the film is essentially a chamber piece on a raft. It’s just two people, a lot of trauma-dumping, and a sea that looks suspiciously like a soundstage in Orlando.

In this current era of "The Volume" and seamless virtual production, The Requin feels like a throwback to a much clunkier time. The compositing is, to put it gently, distracting. There are moments where the lighting on the actors’ faces simply doesn't match the digital sunset behind them, creating a visual disconnect that prevents any real sense of dread from taking root. I found myself focusing more on the edges of the actors’ hair against the green screen than on the looming threat of the storm.

The Silverstone Survivalist Special

Despite the technical wobbles, you have to give Alicia Silverstone credit: she is working hard. This is not a "paycheck performance" where the star phones it in from a lawn chair. Silverstone spends a significant portion of the runtime in a state of high-octane hysteria. She screams, she sobs, and she fights through a series of increasingly absurd physical injuries. It is a raw, committed performance that often feels like it belongs in a much better, more grounded movie.

James Tupper, as the husband who spends a large chunk of the film incapacitated by a leg injury, doesn't have as much to do, but their chemistry is believable enough to make the early, quieter moments work. The problem is that the film doesn't seem to trust its actors to carry the emotional weight. Instead, it relies on heavy-handed flashbacks and a score that practically screams "BE SAD NOW" at the audience.

In a post-pandemic world where we’ve seen small-scale "lockdown" cinema flourish, there was a version of this film that could have been a taut, psychological thriller about grief. Instead, Le Van Kiet leans into the B-movie tropes, which would be fine if the shark action delivered. But the titular predators don't even show up in a meaningful way until the final act, and when they do, it looks like a PlayStation 2 cutscene had a fever dream.

When the Shark Finally Invites Itself to Dinner

The shark horror subgenre is a crowded one. We live in a world where Jaws (1975) remains the gold standard, while The Shallows (2016) proved you could still do high-tension survival with modern tech. The Requin struggles to find its place in that lineage. The creature design isn't terrible, but the way the sharks interact with the environment feels weightless.

There is one specific sequence involving a flare and a nighttime attack that actually manages to drum up some legitimate tension, mostly because the darkness hides the budget. But then we’re treated to a finale so outlandish—including some physics-defying leg-chomping—that it tips over into unintentional comedy.

Apparently, the production was hit with several challenges, including the fact that it was shot in Orlando, Florida, standing in for Vietnam. While Le Van Kiet is a talented filmmaker, the marriage of his kinetic style and the static limitations of this production just never quite gels. The film’s tiny box office return—barely cracking $130,000—is a testament to how these "star-led VOD" titles often disappear into the digital ether the moment they're released. It’s a "content" piece, designed to fill a slot on a streaming menu rather than to leave a mark on the genre.

Ultimately, The Requin is a fascinating mess that highlights the pitfalls of the current streaming-first production model. It’s got a committed lead performance and a director with a proven track record, yet it’s sunk by some of the most distracting visual effects in recent memory. If you're a shark movie completist or just want to see Alicia Silverstone go full-tilt survivalist, it might be worth a "hate-watch" on a rainy afternoon. Otherwise, this is one predator that's better left in the depths of the "Recommended for You" list.