Tuesday, November 06, 2007
In the Name of the Killjoy
Egad. Sakes alive. *&$%@# all ta' ...---well, you know. Why? Why Hollywood!?! Why would you reduce something as mirthfully goofball and miraculously playable as Dungeon Siege by making a shoddy Uwe Boll (a la Blood Rayne!---gah! I know! I know!) flick out of it! I speak of In the Name of the King, a film which prematurely attempts to associate itself with a much grander picture. Now, I won't berate the cast. I think Jason Statham, Ray Liotta, John Rhys-Davies and Leelee Sobieski, to name a few, aren't the worst players in the world. If anything it might be mildly amusing compared to Eragon, which, as you know, oh faithful cyberspace, was cinematic feces. But then Eragon also touted Jeremy Irons and John Malkovich in its cast.
I know that to most of the planet, video games are cultural detritus, technology's answer to several millenia's culmination of male aggression and sexual objectification of women. Still, in a few ephemeral moments, one is truly transported to beautiful landscapes, vividly visceral battles, and profound moments of masculine introspection. Immersion of the kind that only video games can produce asks more of a director than a peripheral preproduction and a fly-by-night screenwriter.
I dare not rant more. It just sickens me that my periodic delight has become so much fodder for feeble storytelling.