William Castle would be so proud. The self-proclaimed cinematic huckster, the man whose gimmicks ("Emergo", "Percepto") were more memorable than the movies (House on Haunted Hill, The Tingler) they served to promote, would love what Paul W. S. Anderson accomplishes with his wholly unnecessary reentry into the fetid Resident Evil franchise. Long sputtering on life support, barely breathing in the long DOA world of video game adaptations, the former zombie stomp is now relying on carnival barking to get butts in Cineplex seats.
Not even the return of Anderson himself, original director of this unholy, unoriginal mess is publicity enough. No, Afterlife is betting the bank on a stereoscopic strategy by which boredom is broken up by the occasional jaw dropper of stuff flying straight at the camera. As bullets, giant axes, and monster spatter soars indirectly into the viewer's retina, the ghost of Castle sits back and giggles -- if only his antiquated two color "Illusion-O" process was as effective as the new "comin' atcha" camera trickery.
In this fourth go round, Alice (an inert Milla Jovovich) is released from captivity by the wicked Albert Wexler (Shawn Roberts). He is the despotic Chairman of the Umbrella Corporation, the malevolent multi-national that created the T-virus, and thereby, a planet overloaded with the living dead. Hoping to escape the plaque and rescue gal pal Claire (Ali Larter), she travels to Los Angeles and the supposed location of a monster-less safe zone. Finding herself in a prison scarcely populated by a basketball player (Boris Kodjoe), a Hollywood hotshot (Kim Coates) and Claire's brother Chris (Wentworth Miller), she hopes to rally these survivors and plan her get away. Of course, Umbrella, and it's gnarly collection of genetically mutated creatures, have other ideas in mind.
Resident Evil: Afterlife is like a poorly made cream puff -- fancy and somewhat rarified on the outside, as empty as an airhead's thought process on the inside. It's a film bereft of anything to recommend it except for the awe-inspiring use of the third dimension. Borrowing the technology straight from James Cameron and crafting his vision with such depth defying science in mind, Anderson employs it like a surgeon extracting every last bit of magic from the still limited invention. Doing anything he can to enliven the proceedings, he treats the action like an archeologist would a rare set of bones. He studies the various firefights, using slo-mo and splashy angles to accent the "gee whiz" aspects involved. While he's never been very good at the basics (acting, pacing, character development), Anderson can at least handle action.
Too bad then that the rest of the film is so vacant. We never care about Alice of her substitute hero offshoots, don't know why everyone has to come across like a walking, balking cartoon, and wonder why a zombie epic has so few members of the dead pool represented. Instead, we get console title concessions, the introduction of individuals and ideas that only the hardcore members of the gamer community could get excited over. As the superficial story drags, waiting in vain for another shot of excitement, Anderson continues to lob junk at our lens -- literally. By the time we get to the big showdown, we're even tired of that mannered motion picture prestidigitation.
Granted, Anderson is one of the biggest hacks working in the industry today, responsible for far more dung (Death Race, Alien vs. Predator) than delights (Event Horizon...ummm...), so it's no surprise that Resident Evil: Afterlife underwhelms. At least Castle's films were sunny, schlocky delights. While the old school flim flammer would love the novelty of the new 3D, he'd be hard pressed to otherwise defend this dreary dullness.
Not even the return of Anderson himself, original director of this unholy, unoriginal mess is publicity enough. No, Afterlife is betting the bank on a stereoscopic strategy by which boredom is broken up by the occasional jaw dropper of stuff flying straight at the camera. As bullets, giant axes, and monster spatter soars indirectly into the viewer's retina, the ghost of Castle sits back and giggles -- if only his antiquated two color "Illusion-O" process was as effective as the new "comin' atcha" camera trickery.
In this fourth go round, Alice (an inert Milla Jovovich) is released from captivity by the wicked Albert Wexler (Shawn Roberts). He is the despotic Chairman of the Umbrella Corporation, the malevolent multi-national that created the T-virus, and thereby, a planet overloaded with the living dead. Hoping to escape the plaque and rescue gal pal Claire (Ali Larter), she travels to Los Angeles and the supposed location of a monster-less safe zone. Finding herself in a prison scarcely populated by a basketball player (Boris Kodjoe), a Hollywood hotshot (Kim Coates) and Claire's brother Chris (Wentworth Miller), she hopes to rally these survivors and plan her get away. Of course, Umbrella, and it's gnarly collection of genetically mutated creatures, have other ideas in mind.
Resident Evil: Afterlife is like a poorly made cream puff -- fancy and somewhat rarified on the outside, as empty as an airhead's thought process on the inside. It's a film bereft of anything to recommend it except for the awe-inspiring use of the third dimension. Borrowing the technology straight from James Cameron and crafting his vision with such depth defying science in mind, Anderson employs it like a surgeon extracting every last bit of magic from the still limited invention. Doing anything he can to enliven the proceedings, he treats the action like an archeologist would a rare set of bones. He studies the various firefights, using slo-mo and splashy angles to accent the "gee whiz" aspects involved. While he's never been very good at the basics (acting, pacing, character development), Anderson can at least handle action.
Too bad then that the rest of the film is so vacant. We never care about Alice of her substitute hero offshoots, don't know why everyone has to come across like a walking, balking cartoon, and wonder why a zombie epic has so few members of the dead pool represented. Instead, we get console title concessions, the introduction of individuals and ideas that only the hardcore members of the gamer community could get excited over. As the superficial story drags, waiting in vain for another shot of excitement, Anderson continues to lob junk at our lens -- literally. By the time we get to the big showdown, we're even tired of that mannered motion picture prestidigitation.
Granted, Anderson is one of the biggest hacks working in the industry today, responsible for far more dung (Death Race, Alien vs. Predator) than delights (Event Horizon...ummm...), so it's no surprise that Resident Evil: Afterlife underwhelms. At least Castle's films were sunny, schlocky delights. While the old school flim flammer would love the novelty of the new 3D, he'd be hard pressed to otherwise defend this dreary dullness.
