Hollywood Helping You Hate Yourself
The disease infesting Hollyweird has progressed beyond mere hatred of America. Under the banner of environmentalism, Tinseltown has been marketing an increasingly open hatred of the entire human race — as exemplified by a tedious remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, in which Keanu Reeves comes from outer space to tell us that it would be better for everyone if we didn’t exist. Tim Black explains why you’d be wise to give this dog a miss:
Its dialogue often seems to be little more than a patchwork of preachy platitudes, scripture cribbed from some dismal eco-bible, made yet more dreary by their soundbite delivery. Hollywood screenwriters are presumably on an especially fibrous diet at the moment, one rich in stolid, cliché-heavy, eco-fare, judging by this large, steaming pile of Al Gore.
…this film is mostly insufferable, chiefly because it’s little more than an environmentalist rant. Having a green agenda shouldn’t necessarily make it a bad film; indeed The Day After Tomorrow, likewise, an ecologically aware movie, was often genuinely exciting. But, as with the similarly humans-are-crap themed The Happening, the indifference to humanity deprives The Day the Earth Stood Still of anything to fear for. Whether it’s an invasion from within or without, from a vampiric mutation or from outer space, such fictions rely for their dramatic tension upon there being something worth saving, a notion of civilisation, its values and beliefs imperilled. Be it Van Helsing’s Christianity in Bram Stoker’s Dracula or the American way of life in Independence Day, the confrontation with the alien threat matters. But in The Day the Earth Stood Still there is no such tension, because there is very little worth saving. Little wonder the apocalypse here comes not with a bang but a CGI whimper.
But the movie does have some redeeming qualities:
[The moonbatty] Jennifer Connelly’s hair contrasted beautifully with her pale face. And Keanu is just perfect in his role as the Extra-Boring-Terrestrial. He speaks his lines as if he’s unfamiliar with the language, and the way in which he conveys uncertain control of his facial muscles is uncannily alien. I’d go so far as to say Keanu is probably the finest exponent of the recovering-from-a-stroke school of acting currently at work.
Appallingly, this morbid dreck finished the weekend number one at the box office. It seems everyone but masochistic moonbats who want to be told human existence is a crime is finding entertainment somewhere other than at the movies.
On a tip from Name. Cross-posted at Moonbattery.