A group of friends who awaken after a night of hard partying on the beach find they must remain exactly where they are, or risk being devoured by the creature that lurks beneath…the sand… Can Jamie Kennedy save them? Can he fuck!
This pile of crap is about as mysterious as The Grudge. You go in the house, you’re gonna die. You touch the sand, you’re gonna die. We’re talking about a hungover band of head-shaking, selfie-taking, finger-snapping “like OMG” morons here, so whether or not they will touch the sand is not an issue. So where’s the tension? Halfway through the movie it dawned on me that I don’t even give a fuck what the creature looks like!
The premise is certainly simple enough, but not even Jamie Kennedy can salvage this wreckage of bad acting and daft writing, as he looks like the result of when celebrities read too many mean tweets about themselves.
Although The Sand is pitifully worse than mediocre, the movie does break with predictable storytelling tradition when concerning the asshole/semi-villain of the piece. You know – the cunty one who everyone wants to die but doesn’t usually get it until the third act. In this case, it’s the bitch who put the moves on the main girl’s boyfriend. Not only does she not get her comeuppance, she becomes one of the only two survivors – a spot that is most commonly reserved for the lead and their current/new beau.
It’s just such a pity. Even if the script is bad, even if the acting is bad, so many film-makers can still get away with a half-decent movie if they would just stop employing piss-poor special effects, get practical and get some kick-ass Savini-style shit in there. Who the fuck is inspiring these people?