Now this is what Deep Impact and Armageddon SHOULD’VE BEEN! While those pricey doomsday flicks where better box office draws, neither is as much fun or imaginative as this ill-timed retooling of classic "HAVE BAND-AID, WILL TRAVEL" moviemaking with refreshingly restrained, yet dazzling visual effects and more than passing stabs at storytelling by those people, whatever they’re called, who say stuff and are charged with emotionally investing the audience in the plot.
Earnest, though comically inclined folks like Stanley Tucci, Delroy Lindo and Aaron Eckhart. But what probably most snakebit this sucker, other than the bizarre fact apocalyptic cinema seems pretty ROUTINE given today’s perpetual state of upheaval, was the national mourning of the Columbia shuttle disaster just weeks prior to release. Why? Well, in the flick, A Boy Named Hillary Swank co-pilots a similarly troubled shuttle reentry, so similar, the roaring rocket of flames were snipped from domestic trailers. Fortunately, in the MOVIE, all hands aren’t lost and as Hollywood accountants say: "The show must go on."
That’s a GOOD thing, actually, because the sequence may be THE MOST FREAKING SPECTACULAR thrill ride of recent FX memory — even nipping at the leather boot’d heels of The Matrix: Reloaded‘s rush-hour firefight. So too are the chilling shots of folks spontaneously dropping dead in the street, behind the wheel and in boardrooms. And roasting Peeps in the microwave will never be quite so cool after watching the Golden Gate Bridge buckle under the Sun’s "commuter popcorn" setting.
Sure The Birds ode is tired and Rome’s Colosseum looks to have been fashioned from Tinker Toys, but amid this adventure, its easy to look elsewhere. Especially whilst journeying to the center of the Earth in a gargantuan multi-speed marital aid tasked with nuking Mother Nature’s molten core, so she’ll be less menopausal and hopefully lay off smiting we puny humans with every hot flash or magnetic mood swing.
No breasts. 36 corpses (give or take a couple million). Pigeon pummeling. Gratuitous tick-tock soundtrack. Boozing. Flamethrowing theatrics. Gratuitous "team building" montage. Ol’ colored wire cutting gag. Crowd-pleasing sucker punch. Whale whooping. Crystal shard to the brainpan. Apocalypse Boy denies accusations of heroism: "Lack of oxygen kept me from weeping like a little girl, which is my custom in dangerous situations."