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Final Sharknado Film Released, Producers Threaten To Revisit Franchise
Los Angeles (AP) The unlikely Z-movie that launched a franchise came to a close in recent days with The Last Sharknado: It’s About Time, a time traveling bit of nonsense that supposedly wrapped up the preposterous concept of sharks caught up in tornadoes and wrecking havoc with the world. The franchise gave new life to careers on life support for its two leading players, earned scorn and ridicule from anyone with good taste, and launched a million memes.
The stars and producers of the series have been on a publicity tour in the last few days since the final film in the franchise aired. Sharknado was the sort of film that was deemed so bad you had to see it, and of course despite diminishing returns in terms of ratings, for the last few years it was followed up by a number of sequels and other preposterous mashups- Lavantula, Blizwolf, Corgiquake, and TsunaMidler, a film which has not been aired since Bette Midler’s attorney filed an injunction to prevent its release.
Anthony Ferrante and David Michael Latt, who have shepherded the franchise as producers, gathered together with actors Ian Ziering and Tara Reid, who have been with the franchise since the first film as the unlikely protagonists Fin and April. Actress Vivica A. Fox, who appeared in the second and sixth installments of the franchise, joined them on a stage at the production offices of The Asylum. Real reporters were assembled along with entertainment reporters, who were in a delirious state, having had watched the film five times straight.
Much has been said about how this film closes out the franchise. Time travel to stop the sharknadoes from ever starting is employed. A schmuck of a leading man bounces around time to save the world, meeting historical figures and stumbling through big events. Nazis, dinosaurs, American Revolutionary figures, knights, and far more are all exploited in a mashup of a plot with plotholes so big you could fly a jumbo jet through them. The requisite cameos of people playing themselves or unlikely roles (Latoya Jackson as Cleopatra? Seriously???) are all accounted for. People with a working brain might muse that time travelers could do us all a favour and remove Ferrante, Latt, Ziering, and Reid from the timeline.
“Sharknado has been a blessing,” Ziering was saying on stage, smiling like a loon. “Before all this started, I was in trouble. My days of teen hearthtrobness in 90210 was behind me. The parts had dried up, the loan sharks were ready to break my legs, and I was subsisting on dollar store macaroni and cheese every night. Now I’m a star again. Life is good for the Big Z.”
“It paid for my latest round of plastic surgery,” Reid added.
Fox smiled. “And you wouldn’t think to look at you.”
“Thanks. Wait, was that a compliment?” Reid asked.
“A lot of people have been talking over the last few days about how we wrapped things up,” Latt cut in. “Is this really the final Sharknado? Do Fin and April get the chance to have a happy ending and walk off into the sunset together? Or are we going to go back on our word and release, say, Sharknado 7: Revenge Of The Hammerheads. Incidentally, that’s only the working title for the next film. Wait, did I say that out loud?”
Reid spoke up again. “You know, people come up to us in the streets and thank us for making these films. Sharknado has become this cultural icon that the fans just love to pieces. Not shark bite sized pieces. I mean, it’s the kind of story you can sit down and watch with the kids and your grandma while sharks get tossed out of the skies and start eating Al Roker. It’s Americana, everyone. That Norman Rockhead guy couldn’t have painted it any better than how we tell it. Apple pie, football on Friday nights, and Sharknado. That’s America at its best.”
“Shakespeare, eat your heart out,” Ziering boasted. “If he was around today, he’d be writing stories just like this. Because Sharknado is high art. It’s our best expression of culture and spirit and ambition. I don’t see why we’re not getting lavished with awards for it, but maybe that’s just some big conspiracy to give awards to movies that aren’t as good as ours are. Particularly since we got rid of that miserable has-been Hasselhoff.”
David Hasselhoff, the Z-list actor, egotistical buffoon, and full blown alcoholic, had appeared in a couple of the films as Fin’s father Gil, but had been removed after fights with Ziering and a subsequent mutual restraining order preventing the two actors from being in the same place. An uneasy tension settled over the room, broken by a shout. “I heard that!” Everyone turned. There, standing at the back of the room, was the Z-list actor himself, with bloodshot eyes suggesting he had been drinking, holding a half empty bottle of vodka that confirmed that he had been drinking. He looked mad. “You take that back!”
Ziering sneered. “Make me!”
Hasselhoff advanced through the room. “I didn’t raise you to talk back, you punk!”
Fox asked, “Are you aware that you were only playing his character’s father?”
“Don’t confuse the Hoff with facts!” Hasselhoff bellowed, stumbling, pointing at Ziering. “Get down here, you snot nosed brat, and let’s settle this once and for all!” At this point, real reporters were quietly getting out of the way.
“Could we get some security in here?” Ferrante called.
“David, now we’ve talked about this,” Latt said in a reasonable tone. “There’s a restraining order out against you, and you’re not allowed to come out and antagonize our cast like this. Please step out before this becomes difficult.”
Ziering got up out of his chair. “I’ve kicked your ass every time you’ve started a fight, old man, remember? Or has the booze destroyed what’s left of your memory like it has your reputation?”
Hasselhoff glared. “Nobody talks to the Hoff like that!” He threw the vodka bottle at the stage. It missed by far, hitting the back wall, smashing into pieces. His expression of rage turned to shock. “Oh, no! My precious vodka!” For a moment he didn’t move, caught up in his own despair. Then he looked at Ziering again. “You made the Hoff do that! I’m going to kill you, you punk!”
The two charged at each other, Ziering throwing himself off the stage, Hasselhoff meeting him halfway. The actors started hitting each other, knocking into reporters, using chairs to smash into each other as the press conference turned into a melee. It ended with Hasselhoff on the floor, bearing more fresh cuts than the victorious Ziering, screaming over and over again, “He broke my beautiful face!”
As the groaning and whiny Hasselhoff was taken away by paramedics, Latt and Ferrante were apologetic to reporters. “We’ll make sure he never gets near one of our press conferences again. We’ll try to do better,” Ferrante vowed.
Latt nodded. “And when it comes time for Sharknado Ten: This Time We Really Mean It’s The Last One, hopefully by then Hasselhoff will either have choked on a combination of vomit, cheeseburgers, and beer… or he’ll have sobered up and changed his ways. I expect it’ll be the former.”
Ferrante looked at his fellow producer. “David, ixnay on the Sharknado Tenay.”
Latt looked back at him, confused. “Wait… did I say Sharknado Ten out loud?”