Directed by Uwe Boll
It has taken three movies for Uwe Boll’s BloodRayne franchise to finally catch up to where the BloodRayne video games started out in the first place: Nazi Germany. After a needless origin film in the old country and a sojourn to the old west, finally Rayne sinks her fangs and her blades into history’s greatest villains.
I’m of two minds when it comes to BloodRayne: The Third Reich. One mind screams, “Holy crap! That movie was complete gibberish!” The other mind screams, “Holy crap! That movie was complete gibberish – but I was still kind of entertained in a Cannon Films sort of way.” BloodRayne: The Third Reich truly is just a Dudikoff shy of being the BloodRayne flick Golan-Globus would given us back in the day. I hope Uwe Boll considers setting the next BloodRayne movie in the Middle East and has her teaming up with the Delta Force to fight Arab vampire terrorists during the Reagan era.
Natassia Malthe returns for her second go as blade-swinging, daywalking, half-vampire Rayne; and this time she couldn’t even be bothered to dye her hair red for the role. Instead we have a head of dark hair with the tips dyed red, a hairstyle I am fairly certain would look highly out of place in 1940’s Germany. Her whole self looks out of place with the time period. A pale, Eurasian looking woman with red-tipped hair and black fingernail polish, wearing a rather modern looking by Nazi Germany standards trench coat adorned with unusual designs and a very low cut top that displays her heaving bosoms like they’re trying to stage their own Great Escape. Is it any wonder she’s forced to hide out in a brothel?
While Boll may not have been able to get Malthe to fully dye her hair for this threequel, he did somehow convince her to get fully naked. Malthe bares it all in two sex scenes, one of which is girl-on-girl with a prostitute thanking her for saving a fellow harlot from an abusive john as only one can in a whorehouse. I mean, seriously; it goes down (pun intended) so suddenly the dialogue leading into this scene might as well have had the hooker saying to Rayne, “Thanks for the help. How ‘bout I eat your pussy?” No beating around the bush, so to speak.
Both of the sex scenes in this installment manage to be even more out of nowhere than the cell door bang session from the first flick. The finale – I am not making this up – begins with Rayne captured and unconscious in the back of an armored Nazi truck transporting her and local resistance leader Brendan Fletcher, with whom there has been not a smidgen of romantic chemistry with prior; she awakens, they exchange a look, and without saying a word, both proceed to drop trou and play hide the strudel. No thought of escaping; just nookie. I was so disappointed that the other resistance fighters didn’t stage their rescue a few moments sooner so that Rayne and Fletcher would have ended up buck naked in the snow battling Nazis.
Rayne unintentionally turns a Nazi Commandant into a dhampir like herself during the heat of battle. A Nazi doctor gets all giddy at the thought of using her blood to make Hitler immortal. Why exactly they can’t use the Commandant’s blood to make Hitler immortal was kind of lost on me. Not that any of it truly matters in the end since very little between the hacking and slashing and humping and carpet munching matters. A short running time, a breezy pace, and some enjoyable loopiness make it easier to digest.
You know what does matter? Casting Michael Pare as a Nazi! Correction: Michael Pare as a Nazi vampire! Double Correction: Michael Pare as a Nazi vampire that spends much of the movie appearing a tad unsure as to what do with himself post-transformation until the finale when he juices up on Rayne’s blood and starts screaming to the heavens about absolute power as if he were Skeletor on a coke jag.
The Commandant will be so quickly and anti-climactically dispatched in the end I’d dare say Count Duckula would have made a more worthy adversary for Rayne. If this movie is in any way accurate as to the tenacity and intelligence of the Third Reich, I cannot fathom why it took so many years to win that war.
Pare’s German accent vanishes faster than Kevin Costner’s British accent in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. He clearly speaks with a German accent in his first scene or two and from there either doesn’t bother at all or merely speaks with a slightly stilted inflection meant to make him sound less obviously American.
Boll will see your Michael Pare as a Nazi Commandant turned vampire and raise us Clint Howard as a Nazi mad scientist. Howard, too, forsakes a German accent in favor of doing what I can only describe as a full-fledged Igor voice. Considering this is Clint Howard we’re talking about, I just prefer to imagine this doctor used to be Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant Igor until he got corrective hump surgery and put himself through med school.
While I’m on the subject of voices, I’m sorry to say Natassia Malthe’s chirpy delivery just doesn’t carry the weight of a kickass action heroine. Original BloodRayne Kristanna Loken looked the part and possessed a husky voice that added some needed gravitas to her otherwise flat line readings. The silly aviator hat Malthe wears during many action scenes also detracts from her perceived badassery.
I could never determine from the sound of his voice if Brendan Fletcher’s resistance leader was supposed to be German, British, or American. A little annoying considering there are enough scenes involving his anti-Nazi brigade that the movie could have been cheekily retitled Inglourious Dhampirs.
There is one all-too-brief sequence that almost makes me want to give this sequel a five-star rating. Rayne experiences a daffy nightmare in which she gets the crap beat out of her by a vampire Hitler. She wakes up from this dream screaming in terror. I would have woken up laughing hysterically.
2 1/2 out of 5
Discuss BloodRayne: The Third Reich in the comments section below!
Atlantic Rim: Resurrection Review – The #MechToo Movement Has Little Regard for the Ladies
Directed by Jared Cohn
WARNING: This review does contains spoilers! It’s also a review of an Asylum mockbuster of Pacific Rim: Uprising so I’m not really sure it matters. You pretty much know what you’re getting. People inside giant robots punching giant monsters in the face. Sometimes shooting at them. Duh!
It truly is a bold creative decision in this era of #metoo to have the third act of your movie begin with two male characters, neither of whom has been shown piloting a giant robot previously, grounding the two female robot pilots by locking them in a room in order to go do their job for them and kill the giant monsters that have previously defeated the ladies. Oh, sure, there’s some “mechsplaining” as to how these two guys are sidelining the gals for their own well-being, but even then there’s something unintentionally hilarious about these fellas seemingly deciding to not even trust the women to succeed in what is tantamount to a suicide mission.
Not to mention that one of these young ladies has been infected, potentially fatally, by monster venom and hardly anyone seems terribly concerned about this.
But then I am talking about an Asylum production entitled Atlantic Rim: Resurrection about military officers and scientists piloting giant battle bots (that kind of look like 1980’s Tonka robot toys) to fight giant mutant crawdad-like creatures (that look like perfectly acceptable Ultraman foes) along the East Coast of the United States, even though the city being attacked looks suspiciously Californian. In fact, The Asylum website’s own plot synopsis seemingly forgot it was supposed to be set on the Atlantic seaboard and outright states the monsters are destroying Los Angeles. Their website also wrongly lists the film’s release date as February 15, 2017.
Keeping with those high Asylum standards of continuity, Atlantic Rim: Resurrection is The Asylum’s mockbuster sequel of the forthcoming Pacific Rim: Uprising, even though the original Atlantic Rim, released in 2013 to coincide with the original Pacific Rim, was actually distributed in North America under the alternate title Attack from Beneath for reasons I presume were to avoid matters of a litigious nature. Nonetheless, here’s a sequel with a very sequel-y sounding title despite most American viewers probably not knowing the previous film by that title.
And you know what? Absolutely none of that matters.
What matters is that this mockbuster follow-up finally answers one of the great scientific questions of our times: Robonet or Python – which neural operating system is the best for psychically synching Go! Go! Gobots! with their human operators? Or, as I found myself thinking after nearly 20+ minutes of technobabble that is truly more babble than techno, “Are they ever gonna shut up and punch a giant monster? I’m here to see big ugly monsters get face punched by big ugly robots, dammit!”
In the time it takes this sequel to finally get around to its first full-on robot vs. monster battle, the first Atlantic Rim had already seen more monster destruction and chaos, more molten hot robot on monster action, and far more entertaining scenes of a trio of monster-mashing robot pilots hanging out in bars getting plastered. The first had more of everything you would want from an Asylum knock-off of Pacific Rim about insubordinate alcoholics operating giant robots to save the East Coast from gargantuan sea dragons. Despite the main scientist brought in to get the robots and pilots fully synched up looking perpetually hung over, this sequel lacks the “Mighty Drunken Broski Ranger” attitude, the cartoonish delirium, and ham-fisted acting of the original that led me to pen a three-star review.
Not to say there isn’t any fun to be had here; just nothing that entertains quite like watching David Chokachi swaggering through a film like a drunk broski in dire need of an intervention as he and his fellow hard-drinkin’ robot pilots beat a seemingly lost and confused giant monster over the head with huge metal hammers while an unhinged, one-eyed military officer holds his commanding officers at gunpoint demanding they allow him to nuke something, anything. None of the stars of the go-for-broke original returns for this mostly by-the-numbers sequel I almost want to say makes the mistake of being too grounded in reality than its wacko predecessor except it’s hardly realistic.
For a film that devotes so much time to over-explaining the concept, I found myself baffled as to why the pilots still had to manually work gear shifts and push all manner of dashboard buttons to operate robots supposedly powered by their minds. Did my mind sink into the Drift during this endless mind-melding chatter and I missed something clarifying this sticking point?
Anyhow, let’s meet our heroic robot pilots:
- “Hammer” – The black guy. That means he dies first. There’s also another African-American who’ll climb into a robot cockpit for the final battle. He’ll also die. The main Jaeger pilot in Pacific Rim: Uprising is black. Willing to bet he lives. Not woke, Asylum. So not woke.
- “Badger” – Speaking of not woke, the men of the #MechToo movement will come to decide they don’t need no stinkin’ Badger.
- “Bugs” – She’s got a lot of attitude. Claims her nickname is because she “stings like a bee.” She gets stung, alright.
The always dependable Paul Logan makes a brief appearance as a soldier because – why not? Paul Logan always plays a soldier. He isn’t given much of anything to do here, and that’s a shame. Logan already looks like the lovechild of G.I. Joe and He-Man. Why not go for the Transformers trifecta by strapping him into a mech and let him get his Rock’em Sock’em Robot on?
Logan’s primary function is to show only a passing regard for the well-being of his wife and daughter, a tacked on subplot that sees the two women fleeing on foot as kaiju of various sizes rampage in the vicinity. Of course there has to be a family separated, desperately trying to survive and reunite amid the calamity because, of course there is – it’s an Asylum movie!
The resolution to this subpar subplot could not have been any more anticlimactic if dad had just sent an Uber to pick them up from the danger zone, which, honestly, isn’t that far off from what actually happens.
One nifty twist is that a colossal crawdad from aquatic hell spews forth hundreds of little buggers into the streets of East Coast L.A. The characters will refer to these lesser chitinous kaiju as “insects,” “spiders,” and “arachnids” but never “bugs,” presumably to not cause audience confusion with the character who already sports that call sign. They mostly call them “spiders” in spite of the fact that they really don’t look like spiders. More like oversized earwigs. I’m not even sure they had eight legs.
Don’t even ask me to explain what the “Resurrection” in Atlantic Rim: Resurrection means, either. Since this is a mockbuster of Pacific Rim: Uprising, they should have gone with Atlantic Rim: Rising Up since the film begins with giant monsters literally rising up from the sea. Would have made more sense.
On the plus side, any movie where humans using state-of-the-art mind-controlled giant battle bots armed with super science weapons to fight otherworldly giant monsters from the ocean depths yet still has a moment where an injured pilot cracks open a control panel inside his futuristic robot and takes out a plastic blue case labeled “First Aid Kit” that is overstuffed with almost nothing but Band-Aids still earns a merit badge in audacity from me.
Not nearly the Rimjob I was hoping for.
The Cured Review – Ellen Page Fights for Her Life
Written and directed by David Freyne
Taking a cue from AMC’s “The Walking Dead,” the new Irish horror film The Cured begins where most zombie stories end. Drawing more comparisons, the themes of mistrust and social upheaval are front and center here as well. We’re the real villains, and the infectious disease turning humans into monsters is only there to hold up a mirror to show the worst sides of ourselves. The Cured uses the zombie mythos as Romero intended as a commentary on culture, with a little cannibalism thrown in for good measure.
Against the backdrop of a military takeover attempting to reintroduce the recently cured back into society, two people try to return to some kind of normalcy in a war-torn Ireland that’s been turned upside down by the zombie menace. Recently widowed, Abbey (Page) allows her now virus-free brother-in-law Senan (Keeley) to live with her and her son, even though most survivors are forced to live in an army encampment. Under constant surveillance, Senan’s old friend Conor (Vaughan-Lawlor) radicalizes the mistreated survivors of the virus into open rebellion.
The treatment of the survivors isn’t entirely unfair considering that they still have a connection and are not detected by a small percentage of the infected that haven’t responded to the cure. As both sides size each other up, Abbey and Senan are caught in the middle as they try to restore their humanity before the powder keg around them erupts.
Given its far out premise, the story stays firmly grounded in reality, focusing on the growing resistance and its political implications, drawing parallels to the protest movements such as the “Black Block” that have dominated some recent news cycles. When the virus divided the population, it was easy to know what side you were on; now, the cure has created a new class structure where the lower class is maligned until they cross the line and overthrow the uninfected. Clearly still affected and haunted by the heinous acts they committed when they were infected, the cannibalistic rage they still carry reflects the rage felt by the mistreated masses hellbent on overthrowing the powers-that-be.
Whether for budget reasons or simply a style choice, the eating frenzies that occurred before the cure are never fully shown so any gore and graphic images that could’ve been showcases for effects are left to the imagination. Maybe they weren’t shown because these acts were so unspeakable that they are too horrific to see and too painful to fully be remembered by the survivors. The top-notch sound design ratchets up instead and roars to life to the point where just hearing the carnage is enough to make you turn away.
Page’s performance is the emotional core of the film as she goes from understanding to fear to dealing with the ultimate betrayal. It’s important for a slow-developing story like this to have an actress with some star power, and director David Freyne and his team were fortunate to have a high caliber actress ready to deliver in some of the film’s quieter, more intense moments. Freyne directs these smaller character moments with care and also delivers once things open up to show the inevitable anarchy brimming under the surface.
The Cured may feel too closed off at times to allow its bigger ideas to fully breathe, but it never pretends to encompass a more epic scope that would be more in the vein of something like World War Z. Without ever addressing it directly, Freyne, as an Irishman, seems well aware of the history of the country; and he and cinematographer Piers McGrail inject their film with a pathos that makes Dublin come to life inside the world of the undead.
The Cured is a gritty take on the genre that fits nicely into the new type of storytelling that these stories need to embrace in a post-Romero world.
Bad Apples Review – Rotten Fruit, Indeed
Starring Brea Grant, Graham Skipper, Alycia Lourim
Directed by Brian Coyne
Like a seriously bad rash, some films stick with you regardless of whichever topical ointment you slather in generous fashion over your regions – ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce today’s orbital irritant: Bad Apples.
Directed (rather misdirected) by Brian Coyne, this lamentably sterile piece of celluloid follows a couple of murderous sisters, donning horrific (and not in a good sense) masks, and generally putting the sharp edges to random folk on Halloween night…case closed. Only problem here is this: the film has no pulse, no interesting characters to speak of, and basically nothing to redeem or recapture the time that you’ll have spent watching this complete dud. A husband and wife duo has a spotlight on them as well, but their tempestuous relationship makes rooting for them about as pleasing as sitting through 3 hours of Olympic curling…absolutely brutal. Also, you’re reading the babblings of a guy who loves to put the boots to any film that has been deemed “unwatchable”, but this complete wreck of a production is entirely that – something so remedial and uninspired that to type an endless array of rightful vitriol would be an utter waste of time.
So I’ll go on a bit longer with my public display of vehemence, as the casting seems WAY out of whack, and the production? Whoa…don’t even get me started on this – okay, I’ll go on a bit. With differing levels of sound editing, you’ll get the feeling at times like you could pick up a needle drop inside of a concert hall, and other frames of dialogue are so muddled they’re incomprehensible (not like you’ll feel the need to know what’s going on). Wonky camera angles and following shots are so horrendously captured, you’ll be wishing to watch your Mom and Dad’s old home movies just to gain a sense of stability. I normally pride myself on not begging this particular audience to take what I say to heart, or to shy away from something that could potentially ruin their eyesight, but believe me when I plead with you: do not waste your valuable time on this shipwreck – even if your time isn’t all that valuable: don’t waste it. Find something else to do and take a big ol’ pass on this wannabe slasher.
I don’t mean to pick on the low-hanging fruit, but these Apples should be batted away with a Louisville Slugger.
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