End
of Days
Rated R
Now showing
Forget the millennium and Y2K and the end of the world--the
more immediate question is this: Who's going to save us from
another Arnold Schwarzenegger movie? Obviously, the only person
who doesn't understand how ridiculous it is watching a thick-lipped,
noticeably paunchy 52-year-old action has-been run around
in tank-tops trying to save the world (again) is Schwarzenegger
himself. Ah-nold simply refuses to drift off into cinematic
obscurity with dignity, and it's both embarrassing and sad.
Think of watching your drunken dad pick a fight at a family
picnic and you get the idea.
Of course, if you're Schwarze-negger, what else can you
do? The "actor" has had years to learn his craft and still
knows only one or two facial expressions and reads lines
like his jaw's been wired shut. If he doesn't have a gun
in his hand, he's lost. But at this point in his career,
not even that comfort works for poor Arnie. His last two
action films--both critically maligned--did moderate (Eraser)
to terrible (Batman and Robin) business. Schwarzenegger's
last action hit was 1994's True Lies. Now, after
a too-brief absence from the screen, he's back to cash in
on millennial paranoia with End of Days. Bombastic,
obnoxious, tediously long and dull, and just plain stupid
(even for a Schwarzenegger movie), End of Days possibly
ranks as the weathered superstar's worst film. It takes
itself so seriously that it's not even bad enough to be
trashy fun. Schwarzenegger may have found one more way to
save humanity, but after this turd, it's doubtful that he
can save his own career.
According to the production notes, End of Days originated
as a film pitch. Screenwriter Andrew W. Marlowe (Air
Force One) came up with the idea of Schwarzenegger battling
Satan at the end of the century and pitched the idea without
a script. Schwarzenegger, who's exhausted all possible earthly
adversaries, signed on blindly. Watching End of Days,
it makes perfect sense that the movie was derived from a
single, dollar-sign-inspired gimmick. Though director/cinematographer
Peter Hyams (The Relic, Sudden Death) dresses up
this premise with numerous explosions, special effects,
blood and gore, an arsenal of weapons, and muddled theology
and mysticism, he can't hide the fact that End of Days
doesn't contain even one original idea. From The Omen
to Rosemary's Baby to Day of the Beast to
even Ah-nold's own Terminator series, End of Days
shamelessly rips off every device Marlowe or Hyams can remember.
Presumably after watching Lethal Weapon, Marlowe
came up with this persona for Schwarzeneg-ger: Jericho Cane,
a drunken, tormented ex-cop whose wife and daughter were
murdered years ago because he wasn't around to protect them.
When we meet Cane, he's about ready to put a bullet in his
skull. We should be so lucky. Sadly, his security-guard
partner, Chicago (Kevin Pollak, who provides the only intentional
comic relief in the film), interrupts him and, through a
series of hilariously awful action sequences, they begin
unraveling a case in which a bunch of priests are trying
to kill a 20-year-old woman named Christine York (Robin
Tunney, all mouth a-gaping and breasts a-dangling). You
see, when Christine was born, she was chosen by Satan to
conceive his child when he returned on the eve of the millennium.
Twenty years later, the horny Devil--or, as the End of
Days press kit deems him, "The Man"--has returned, in
the form of a dapper Wall Street executive played with great
relish by Gabriel Byrne (the only actor who appears to understand
the load of dung he's stepped into). You can figure out
where this goes from here.
There's so much wrong with End of Days that it's
difficult to pick a critical starting point. Marlowe may
have stolen his ideas from other movies, but he clearly
doesn't understand the formula for an entertaining Schwarzenegger
film. The key is to develop Arnold's character motivations
but make him say as little as possible. Marlowe not only
fails to develop any character in the film, he gives
the mush-mouthed actor twice as much dialogue as he's had
in all of his action films combined. Lines like "I know
what I heard" come out like "Uh knu wha uh hurk." Even sillier,
Marlowe decides to try his hand at subtext: Through blatantly
obvious symbolism, he turns Schwarzeneg-ger into a Christ
figure. He's exiled and crucified, playing the role like
a martyr with a Glock. Well, if Schwarzenegger can get pregnant
(Junior), I suppose Hyams and Marlowe felt he could
be the Messiah.
None of this character or plot stuff really matters to
"Hack" Hyams, though. Coming from the Michael Bay school
of sledgehammer aesthetics (The Rock, Armageddon),
Hyams is only concerned with big boom boom. He's a director
who revels in excess: He can't just blow up one van; he
takes out an entire city block, shot from two or three different
angles. Fireballs follow Schwarzenegger and Tunney wherever
they go. He shoots entire action sequences in close-up,
then edits them together into disorienting, headache-inducing
fragments in hopes that audiences won't have time to think.
By the finale, you won't care whether Arnold saves the world
or not, because burning in hell might be a better option
than seeing another film by Schwarzenegger or Hyams.
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Willamette Week | originally
published December 1,
1999
|
