Movies are an objective experience, which the viewer enters as an observer, not a participant—requiring the establishing of characters with whom the audience can identify first, and through them feel the fear generated by whatever the threat happens to be... all of this is a roundabout way of getting to one of the reasons why RESIDENT EVIL: EXTINCTION is the latest in the long string of features that fail to deliver the fear factor of their video-game inspirations. -- Michael Gingold, Fangoria
After reading Michael Gingold's review of Resident Evil: Extinction, I knew I had to steel myself against another blistering disappointment in horror movie entertainment. I headed to the concession stand and bought my usual reviewer-comfort food: small Cherry Coke, check; box of Junior Mints, check. I then sat in the last row, far from the screen, symbolically distancing myself from this third installment in a series that has, so far, failed to capture the eeriness and gut-wrenching involvement of the video game it sprang from.
I was halfway through my box of Junior Mints, around the time when Alice — lithesome Milla Jovovich — was holding herself in her arms — her clone self, that is — that I realized kicking zombie butt can be fun to watch, even if the dialog, characters, and set pieces are uninspired to the point of lameness. Let's face it: the franchise keeps going only because Milla Jovovich is the prettiest and sexiest zombie butt-kicker on the screen today.
Dressed in short-shorts, boots and garters, and two really big, sharp Kukri knives that Jim Bowie would have been proud to own, she presents quite the picture of the fashionably dressed zombie slayer about town, or desert in this case. Unfortunately the T-Virus has spread well-beyond Raccoon City, and now the entire planet is screwed big time, as well as the dwindling bunch of ragtag survivors traveling in a convoy that also would have made Mad Max proud, too.
.jpg?t=20120527181101)
Article comments
1 - El Bicho
welcome back. it's been too long