How this sucker isn’t another Blade affirms sexism still exists among cinema heros. Are we really so unprepared for such take-charge chicks? The uber-delish Kate Beckinsale is a vampiric "death dealer" in the same babeilicious pantheon as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider minus the costume changes, exotic locales and inflated bustline. She two-fists hand cannons in Gatlin fashion making a mess of most ANYTHING in her path — especially pesky werewolf goon squads. That is until she gets all weak in the choppers for Scott Speedman who sure as heck did a number on poor, earnest lil Felicity Porter on The WB. But that’s revealing MUCH too much about yours truly’s former viewing habits. What’s paramount here is how tasty Kate looks strutting around in sinfully-snug vinyl whilst clutching equally sizzlin’ Smith & Wessons. Thoughtfully, director Len Wiseman has kindly saved CineSchlockers the thumb strain by filming most of Ms. Beckinsale’s scenes in slow mo. There’s also some nifty neck-nosher and lycanthrope lore to gnaw on, such as when Bill Nighy‘s sinewy Viktor von Vampenpimp gets his wake-up call umpteen centuries too early. Forget fussy Wesley or dopey Keanu, bring on Killa Kate and Underworld: Reloaded!!! No breasts. 51 corpses. Multiple gun battles. Gratuitous symbolic foul fluttering. Canine cam. Requisite full-moon shot. Ol’ delayed decapitation gag. Multiple hypodermic closeups. Michael Sheen‘s Lucian barks at his brawling wolfen minions: "YOU’RE ACTING LIKE A PACK OF RABID DOGS!!!"
