I hate you Paul W.S. Anderson.
I really, really hate you. In fact, I wish nothing but bad things for you and I curse your ancestors for inflicting your continued and painful ineptitude on a mostly undeserving world. I also resent a system that has allowed someone with so little obvious talent to rise as high as you have, although I do applaud you for doing so. I was taught to never resent the success of geniuses, hate unjustly rewarded mediocrity, and for me, you are the embodiment of that. Or you would be if you ever made it to the dizzy heights of “passable”.
Everyone else, you may be pleased to hear that I have now got over my persecution complex with the cunt and am just treating him the same way I treat Milton Keynes: nothing good will ever, or has ever, come out of there, and it’s just bad luck that occasionally I have the fucking place inflicted on me.
That’s it. I’ve done it. I am the sole moron on the planet that has seen every single one of PWS Anderson’s films. This does beg the question: why would I do this to myself? Well, the answer is simple, as simple as Paul himself. It’s because the bastard invariably makes terrible films based on material that I like. It’s got to the stage with the cocksucker that I’m actually developing a minor persecution complex in that it genuinely feels like he’s deliberately finding subjects that I care about and then ruining them intentionally. Why is he doing this to me? Why can’t he bugger off and just make Sex and the City sequels or Jane Austen adaptations or other such trash that I could just happily ignore? All of which boring and self-pitying preamble brings me around to his most recent cinematic atrocity: Resident Evil 4.
I did already know this before I started this review, but of the 3 Resident Evil films that I’ve seen, this is the one with the least to do with the games, and despite basically not being a Resident Evil adaptation, the only one that stands watching once. I’m not sure about rewatchings, as there was years between me seeing this film twice, but having watched it again, I am surprised to say that it manages to scale heights that this series otherwise gets nowhere near by being deeply, deeply mediocre. Funnily enough, almost all the problems it has are directly as a result of that steaming sack of excrement Apocalypse, in that Extinction goes miles out of its way to tie up the loose ends from part 2, and clean out the extraneous and aggravating characters that added nothing to the story. There are other problems, sure enough, but in comparison to the other two films in this dismal soul-destroying series (that is trying its damndest to make me hate cinema, Paul W.S. Anderson, and Resident Evil games) that I’ve seen to date it’s really not that awful.
Since nobody saw this 40 million dollar price tag in theaters we should all be ashamed of ourselves. I blame the fact that the studios withheld a critic screening of it which usually screams crapfest, and any real critic with the moxie to see a movie with the masses did not really scream high praise for the film.
Boy were they wrong.
Poor Russell Mulcahy, he was the Michael Bay of Hollywood while Michael Bay was busy being the Michael Bay of the music video world. Yet, Michael Bay still wishes his movies were as good as Russell’s, which have held up amazingly well. I bet Bay has some sort of shrine to Mulcahy in his house.