Dunkleosteus was the largest fish the world had ever known. And she was beautiful.
I read about this giant thing from the early days of the world courtesy of the Discovery Channel and suddenly it dawned on me how to make the original tale of Orsonsharktopus make sense. I hadn’t nailed down the first of four films, I had only described it as “general mayhem.” But now all the exposition fits right into place.
They were lovers in the Devonian Period, and when Dunkleosteus went extinct along with the rest of her species, Orsonsharktopus lost the greatest love he would ever know. His heart was broken beyond repair. Over the eons, he grew bitter and cynical, but maintained a low profile so he could stew in his misery for all time without being bothered.
Skip ahead to present day. The Santa Bertha Aquarium (yes, our fictional town is called Santa Bertha, and it is located on the southern-central coast of California) has received some fossils to display as a new attraction: Dunkleosteus…
I can totally see this working. The first portion of the first Orsonsharktopus film can be like the first part of “Up,” where we feel all sad for Orsonsharktopus after Dunkleosteus goes extinct, and we sort of sympathize as he roams the oceans for eons, getting progressively lonelier and meaner.
And then he sees the advertisements for the Dunkleosteus fossils at the Santa Bertha Aquarium, and goes to find her. And when he finds out the love of his life has NOT returned to him, but in fact is being used as some cheap tourism gimmick, he is even more pissed off than ever.
I’m sure you can guess what comes next. General mayhem. Only now it’s personal, and much more passionate. It all turns into a monster action flick, with screaming crowds and mindlessly large quantities of human deaths. And in the end, our scientist heroes save the town and freeze him in carbonite.
And there, frozen in carbonite, and placed alongside his eternal love inside the aquarium, is our final image of Orsonsharktopus.
…Until the sequel.