December 27, 2004
If you believe that a movie as bad as Resident Evil: Apocalypse could be spoiled, there are spoilers within.
The movie flails about in search of a plot, eventually settling on one that doesn’t quite work. The first movie relied on the tired cliche of having to get out before the timer clicked down to zero and <something bad> happened. This one decided about two thirds of the way through that it was going to do the same thing, bypassing the traditional method of telling the audience and compressing that critical rising action phase of the plot to about twenty minutes. I mean, actions scenes and shooting zombies is all fun, but it helps a bit to have some kind of goal in mind for the characters. It’s like they went down the list of requirements (creepy sets, check; villain with German accent, check; hot women with guns, check.), but never realized that there was supposed to be a cohesive center to the whole thing.
We do get to see Milla’s tits, and there are a few topless zombie hookers (band name!). But we are left unsatisfied. Surely a woman who goes into battle with zombies wearing a tube top and minskirt would find time for a shower somewhere in those ninety-four minutes of mediocrity. But, alas, it was not to be.
For me, the movie had only one redeeming quality: the delightful homage to the video games in the church. The lighting is creepy and very reminiscent of the games, and when Jill is walking around, she holds herself and gun just the way the video game character does, even doing the little half lápiz when she turns.
My Christmas was a pleasant, if a bit hectic, time to catch up with friends and family at home, but it ended on a decidedly uncheerful note.
My grandmother died, and I will be traveling back to North Dakota for the funeral this week. It was not unexpected, but it comes as a blow nonetheless.