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Underworld sucks and bites
by Joey Cody
What a waste of a baby-sitter.
Let's just establish that I have nothing good to say about Underworld. That doesn't, however, mean I won't say anything at all. In fact, if I hadn't been reviewing it I would have left after the first 15 minutes. So you, gentle reader, won't mind if I use some of this space for good instead of evil? Thanks.
Underworld was so excruciating to watch (literally and figuratively), we actually had to sit through it with our ears plugged, which still couldn't prevent significant hearing loss. I've even been to Disney movies at that theater that have made me cry for mercy (and no, it wasn't because of the schlocky Phil Collins theme songs).
Theater companies: kindly put a reasonable decibel governor on your sound systems, since your pimply, 20-year-old managers don't seem to give a howdy-ho if our ears bleed. In the meantime, I'll be at home with my NetFlix and Smartpop.
Okay, enough about bad audio—back to bad movies . . . .
Lightly put, Underworld is an abomination. And not in the good old-fashioned, occult way. Too bad, because I was really looking forward to this latest addition to the vampyre oeuvre, which looked like a cross between Blade and The Matrix.
Underworld introduces us to an age-old war between the effete Vampires and the thuggish Lycans (werewolves who have developed the ability to transform at will). Add a Romeo/Juliet twist, some modern lab-work and ballistics, some terrible acting and directing, and voilá: a big, steaming pile of monster poo.
The Vampires—who chastely sip cloned blood from crystal goblets instead of feeding on humans—have come close to eradicating the man-eating Lycans. Or so they think. They're kind of oblivious because it's perpetual cocktail hour at the Hungarian estate, where the snotty sophisticates lounge around looking fabulously pasty.
Selene (Kate Beckinsale) is a zealous Death Dealer (werewolf hunter) for her coven. Kate is pretty damn hot in her rubber corset and the obligatory leather trench, but the most notable thing about her is that she's the actor least encumbered by the prosthetic fangs.
Kraven (played by appalling Irish actor Shane Brolly) is the vamp leader, at least until an elder, Viktor, is awakened. Brolly tries to sneer convincingly, but seems to have difficulty even getting his voice low enough to sound villainous. I doubt he could handle an Irish Spring ad.
While the vampires want to keep their bloodline pure, the werewolves' leader (Lucian, played by the wasted talent Michael Sheen) is trying to end the primeval war by hunting down Michael Corvin (Scott Speedman, of Felicity fame), who, as a descendant of the ancient Corvinus clan, has the genetic potential to become a WampWolf. Or a WerePire. Or something. (He ends up looking like Bad Willow meets the TV Hulk.)
Selene falls for Michael, who, unbeknownst to her, has recently been bitten by a werewolf, and she gets in big trouble for bringing her stray crush into the House.
How Selene and Michael fall in love is a real stumper, since all we get is a dry kiss and, eventually, a decidedly unsexy bite (the director is Beckinsale's fiancé, natch). Speedman, while scruffily cute and good at looking befuddled, is just built for TV, and Beckinsale, while moody and alluring, seems to be thinking about her next trip to the dentist. George Bush and Ani DiFranco would have better cinematic chemistry.
Co-writer and first-time director Len Wiseman (art director on Stargate and Independence Day) did a nice job with the sets and atmosphere, but has absolutely no idea what he's doing when it comes to putting together a coherent story and engaging characters. He allows technology to muddy mythology, and he fogs up the plot with too-frequent flashbacks and visions.
The futuristic ammo—liquid UV and silver nitrate bullets—was cool, but it's so Schwarzenegger to have the immortal enemies battle each other with semiautomatic weapons. And the inconsistency of the monsters' superhuman powers lost me. One werewolf, for instance, is apparently killed three times before he actually keels over.
Matrix wannabe though it is, Wiseman's special effects budget must've dried up before he shot the fight finale: two not-very-scary guys scrappin' in a sewer. Complete with chokeholds and bitch-slaps, it looks like a WWE Halloween special.
And Underworld's big question—werewolves or vampires?—is moot, because one is unable to conjure much sympathy for either side: The Vampires are a boring bunch of ashen aristocrats who loll around their castle all night, and the Lycans are a pack of murderous wolves who have their own Were-Fight Club and live in the sewer. Tough call, but I guess the underdogs win my vote, since they were once slaves of the Vampires. But, eh—who really cares.
Believe me—your time is better spent on an Anne Rice book or Rune graphic novel. Or you can come over to my place for the latest NetFlix pick.
October 2, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 40
© 2000 Metro Pulse
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