Sunday, November 21, 2010

Epic Fail

I went to Chili's for dinner tonight before hitting the movies with Tommy and his friend Maureen. I ordered the crispy chicken tacos, with Texas cheese fries as an appetizer. My brother got the skillet queso, which is basically chips with a spicy beef and cheese dipping sauce. The waitress took a long time getting our food out, and when mine came, the order was wrong. It took them a few minutes and an argument between two waiters to get my order right. It also took a while for the waitress to get us our check, and though we had requested separate checks, it was combined.

The food was okay, but something didn't sit right with me (probably that skillet queso), and as I got home, I had a pretty disagreeable stomach, so I had to spend some time indisposed, if you catch my drift.

Sorry to paint that picture for you, but it's important for you to know exactly how uncomfortable that series of events was for me, so you will truly understand when I say that having my order messed up and getting the shits from it was a PLEASANT EXPERIENCE compared to sitting through the awful, awful mess known as SKYLINE.

This movie contained every sci-fi hackneyed cliche ever written. Lead actor who is a regular guy just trying to get by? Check. Lead actress who is a saint and is willing to stand by her man through thick and thin? Supporting actor with buddy comedy chemistry? Check. Supporting actress cast-iron bitch? Check. Unexplained Earth-shaking arrival of mysterious aliens? Check. Early death of leery, creepy comic relief? Check. Small dog used to gain sympathy of audience? Check. Frightened old man as comedy tool? Check. Creepy tentacled aliens with mind control abilities culling humanity like dust-busters? Check. Pre-requisite explosion shot, followed by pre-requisite smoked filled shot of alien ship surviving the blast? Check. Frantic chase scene with last minute escapes and dodges? Check. Shock death of supporting actor with missed-by-a-hair rescue attempt by main character, complete with slow motion close-up of dying supporting actor? Check. Timely arrival of older character with important information and or equipment? Check. Late arrival of military, which proceeds to fail in initial attempts to defeat aliens? Check. Gotcha scene of imminent rescue thwarted by last minute mishap? Check. Older character sacrificing self to save others with a witty one-liner? Check. Repeated last second saves by incoming attack? Check.

I hate that this movie was even made. Donald Faison should be ashamed of himself, and his agent should be fired. You were on Scrubs, for Christ's sake! This was like watching Michael Jordan play baseball. It felt like two kids were playing with their toys in their backyard. It was like playing a video game with no instruction manual and you can't control the character. The majority of the movie takes place in Donald Faison's living room, and in a movie with a limited location, it has to be character driven. I've met more lovable characters picking up trash for community service. The dialogue sounds like it was clipped from a dozen other sci-fi movies.

The alien design is a mish-mosh of other movie designs, and the plot was razor thin. The alien ships are vacuuming up anyone who stared at their human bug-light. If humans managed to stay out of the path of the Dyson Ball from outer space, there were alien helicopters that, although they could fly, eviscerate people in a flash, and couldn't be destroyed, could be thwarted by a set of blinds. The aliens themselves are indestructible, surviving being driven into by a speeding SUV and crushed, except for the part when our hero punches one to death. But why were the aliens here? Well, from what I could gather, they are here to eat our brains, which, for whatever reason glow when they are extracted from our heads.

This movie is like if Independence Day and Cloverfield were in an incestuous relationship and huffing paint and this movie is the bastard love child that they went ahead and bashed in the skull with a tack hammer. If presented with the option of having my balls gnawed off by a ravenous wolverine or having to sit through this movie again, well, it'd be a tough call, because frankly, I don't see much of a distinction between the two.

Someone get Donald Faison some work, PLEASE.