Mr. Me, Andy-Across-The-Road and I braved the horrible Wigan
Empire last night to go see
30 Days of Night.I wish I hadn't. On the way out of watching it I ranted about how I'd excreted things more frightening than this vile pile of nonsense. Actually, the vending machine coffee on my desk fills me with far more fear than anything surrounding this cinematic release. In its depths, I can see true terror. Will it taste of coffee or...
SOMETHING ELSE?! I was bored, or bored until I realized that I was watching something that made as much sense as running outside in the pouring rain with nothing on but a poncho, a cheese hat and a g-string. Then I was filled with fury.
Why? Why the ire?
Firstly because I spent 2 hours watching dwindling numbers of heroic survivors trying to cross the street. The big station, the thing that would Eventually Save Them All? It was approximately 50 feet away from where they hid in the attack for an alleged two god damned weeks. That's right, even though they spent around an hour running out into the road to save the plebs that kept leaving the attic, not once did they haul to the protection of the station thingie.
Not that you would know any time had passed, you know, ever. The tough-yet-vulnerable heroine of the piece was still wearing lipstick up to about 25 days of their endeavor. And everyone, save looking a little pale, were pleasantly plump. Despite the fact that they'd presumably been living on a box of tinned cookies for 2 weeks. Since they couldn't exactly cook anything on a wooden floor. If this film is to be believed, the only real side effect of hovering around in a town overrun by chirping vampires is your hair gets a bit frizzy.
At least crazy ass Billy had the decency to look a little gone and bedraggled. And how is it that Billy came to shoot his whole family anyway? Dear editing and script writing teams, it's called
foreshadowing. Because, if you don't, then no one cares about the fellow copper falling to pieces toward the end. You just go "oh, ok then."
And then, the great and glorious hero of the movie, he did all the running. The big problem with this? The conciliator was
asthmatic. Like any sensible cinema going person I figured the Salbutamol inhalers would be a sort of plot crux. Like, he runs and runs and then his lungs start caving in on him. No, he did all sorts of running in a pleasantly thin atmosphere without a single attack. Wait! There was one, while they were still in the house. And instead of him breaking down into a frenzied panic when it looked like his inhaler had run out, he just lay there, breathing deeply. This film was so full of red herrings it may as well be a tin labeled sardines.
And the vampires. Oh dear god, the vampires. Not only were they the most irritating vampires ever, what with their demonic chirping imitations and the stupid scene where the girl rolls around on the floor going "OOHHHHH, OOOHHHHH" after being gunned down by Mr. Cop Hero's ultraviolet light of death, they were also damned stupid.
Let me think, you're a predator intent on party time in a place where you don't have to hide from the sunlight. You eat everything that you can see, yet you don't start burning houses or ripping them apart to find more food. You send a stupid girl out into the street as the most obvious bait, you know,
ever. Toward the end, the Vampiric Mr. Cop Hero, says he can smell the blood of his friends and family. Yet, when the vampires were wandering through the house, they had no idea someone was 10 feet above them and slightly to the left.
Ok then.
And those are just the things I can remember the next morning. Admittedly, much of the "plot" is completely overshadowed by the dull ache in my upper right arm. My flu jab has kind of taken over the place in my brain where this movie lived. The worst thing about it is I had time and inclination to
notice any of the above at all. That's a bad sign for a movie. I can handle plot holes.... as long as there's something else going on. And there just wasn't.
See it at your peril.
Edit: For some reason Blogger is now refusing to post spelling changes. AWESOME. I am getting quite pissed off at this. (I know how to spell attic, just so you know.)
Labels: 30 days of night, blogger, gaylord fockers, movies, stupid, technical difficulty
