Robocop Reboot: Omnicorp Product Line Viral Trailer

Film Review: The Thing

Palaeontologist Kate Lloyd (Winstead) is recruited to investigate a potentially Earth-shattering discovery at a Norwegian research base in the Antarctic. Upon her arrival she learns of an alien spacecraft buried beneath the ice for over 100,000 years, as well as its sole survivor. Left to thaw, the creature suddenly springs to life and takes not only to gobbling up the scientists manning the outpost, but also to xeroxing their appearance.

John Carpenter's 80s sci-fi cult-classic The Thing hinted at a Norwegian expedition next door having encountered its shape-shifting extraterrestrial before Kurt Russell arrived in the original. Well, here they are. Now we find out what happened at that ill-fated Viking base camp. However, this Thing is also as much of a remake as it is a prequel of that Thing in that the set-up is virtually the same as Carpenter's 1982 Antarctic alien epic. Thing 2011 is still a claustrophobic thriller where snowbound scientists are stuck in a blizzard with a murderous creature capable of precisely replicating their anatomy down to the last molecule. Cue a witch hunt fuelled by paranoia as no one is quite sure who the other really is and we have the same suspense scenario. Certainly the feel of this Thing is similar to that of Carpenter's original, although director Matthijs van Heijningen Jr. appears willing to let his version rest on its brand name rather than push any boundaries.

It's quick off the mark as no longer than twenty-minutes in does the bloodshed begin. Mr. Thing appears to be a crabby carapace which shoots tentacles that spear and genetically graft onto his prey. However, as soon as it kicks off The Thing quickly descends into one gut-busting death after another, shattering suspense in favour of tedium. It is also a tad confusing as to how many parts of Mr. Thing there are, an unexplained mystery where lots of little Things seem to keep popping out from nowhere. Just as soon as you think it's dead another part rears its ugly head without warning or plot device. Likewise, poor CGI makes the creature more laughable than terrifying, so much so that a case could be made that it probably looked better thirty-years ago.

For such a nasty little bugger which ungraciously devours people with aplomb you also start to wonder why Mr. Thing feels the need to hide amongst humans at all. Indeed, this 'prequel' disappointingly fails to answer a thing raised in the original. Where did it come from? What are its motives? Instead we are left with the strabismic Hollywood prospect of beings capable of interstellar travel relegated to nothing more than barbaric beasts with a penchant for human flesh. For a space crab able to pilot a flying saucer through the cosmos, Mr. Thing doesn't seem to display that much more cunning than Lars, Sven, Thor, whatever, and their other bearded Norwegian associates.

Which is another thing. Such is the near-identical appearance of everyone that it is incredibly difficult to keep track of exactly which hairy Norde is left standing. It's a situation not helped by the fact that we aren't given nearly enough time to become acquainted with everyone before the shit hits the fan. What we have here are lambs for the slaughter rather than well-rounded characters. This serves to shift the audience's hopes and sympathies on Kate, one of only two females at the base and thus markedly distinctive from all the bearded men. In a way she's sort of a Ripley of the ice, although this position isn't earned as The Thing's tepid script fails to give her the physical opportunities and immortalising one-liners which make such characters great.

So here's the thing. While this female-centric remake of a sci-fi classic has a reasonably solid premise it is unfortunately poorly executed. It'll probably be acceptable for the uninitiated but, as with most remakes, doesn't really do a thing better than the Carpenter version did.

Film Review: Conan the Barbarian

This remake business is getting a bit out of hand isn't it? Does no one have an original bone in their body anymore? Are movie-goers doomed to an eternity of iteration upon iteration? One would certainly hope not. But epitomising this trend of late is German-born director Marcus Nispel, someone who has built a career on remaking other people's movies (Friday the 13th, The Texas Chainsaw Masacre, Frankenstein). Unsurprisingly then his latest work is also another re-imagining, that of John Milius' Conan the Barbarian.

In the Hyborian Age of beards and broadswords, evil Khalar Zym (Lang) murders the chief (Perlman) of a barbarian tribe whilst in search for the last piece of a magic mask. Years later the son of the chief, Conan (Momoa), is determined to avenge his father's death by killing practically everyone else. Along the way he gets involved with Tamara (Nichols), the last of an ancient bloodline whom Zym needs to complete a ritual that will activate the mask and enable him to rule the world. Or some such tripe...

Of course, you don't go into a remake expecting something groundbreaking and this new Conan is no exception. Blood and boobs, both are here. What you do expect from remakes however is how they will inevitably shit all over the memory of the original you enjoyed all those years ago. Again, Conan is no exception. In which case it might be unfair to chide those responsible for this work of unrelenting barbarism. However, even with such low expectations this incarnation is pretty bad, omitting everything which gained the original its pulp classic status, most glaringly the Austrian behemoth himself. Indeed, Arnie's are big boots to fill. So big in fact that even the hulking figure of Jason Momoa, whom many will recognise from Stargate Atlantis and Game of Thrones, looks like a scrawny little child compared to the Teutonic slab.

To be fair, Conan the Barbarian has a reasonably captivating if unambitious opening involving a narrator spinning some yarn of dungeons and dragons while a camera pans across a dingy, windswept landscape. Shot in Bulgaria, the country certainly has a knack for strangely alluringly drab environments, cinematographer Thomas Kloss truly capturing some fascinating locations and stunning imagery. We are introduced to Conan, plucked from his mother on the field of battle, and follow him through his teenage years to manhood in the form of Momoa's rippling form. However it is this stage of adulthood where everything starts to go wrong, the film descending into a farcical circus of hacking and maiming. Conan, as you might expect, is dedicated to unfettered carnage. In 3D.

The plot becomes largely inconsequential, merely existing to shift characters along from point A to B. There's something about a magic mask and the need of 'pure blood' from an extinct lineage of sorceresses to activate it, but the film doesn't waste any more time explaining this than it took you to read that sentence. There's less acting than there is grunting as blank avatars flex and pose to ludicrous effect. Dialogue isn't welcome in this men of men's world, typified by a scene in which Rachel Nichol's character threatens to get chatty, only for Momoa to silence her by stuffing a rag in her mouth.

Indeed, Nichols proves to be a forgettable love interest, literally yelping and screaming so much to be heard that you begin to wish someone put her out of her misery. Momoa is a drab slate without hint of personality or charisma while Lang is just about passable as your generic villain. Perhaps the only person seemingly involved is Zym's daughter Marique (McGowan), a seductive sorceress who's the only character that infers any real menace. Action set pieces, while impressive the first time round, wear thin by the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth time you see them to the point where all this sadism and barbarity is justified on the basis that, well, Conan is a barbarian. Indeed, our hero is so blank that he is almost indistinguishable from the bad guys. He fights under no moral code, nor does he stand for any kind of principle.

Conan the Barbarian exists to hack and maim as much folly as possible, purely for the sake of showcasing as much sadistic carnage as it possibly can. It's pure primitive savagery and as if to hammer this home Conan neatly surmises this film's philosophy on life, stating "I live, I love, I slay, I am content". It's the simple things after all, isn't it? In which case you might enjoy this simple film. Moreover though this lacks any sense of fun that in theory it should have in spades. It's all rather drudging.