July 28, 2007
Sunshine. Horrible. This is one of those sci-fi movies that makes a ploy for plausible but every frame just makes me want to yell "Your math is wrong" at the screen. And I suck at math.

To wit: apparently, the best possible way to save the dying sun is to drive a Texas-sized Zildjian cymbal with some nukes strapped to the back right the hell into it bell-first and blow the sunny fucker right up.

In one of the opening, crappy, establishing scenes, we are introduced to the crew with ham-fisted dialogue like, "How is it that I'm saner than you, Dave, and YOU'RE THE SHIP'S PSYCHOLOGIST?!" Everyone get that? DAVE IS THE SHIP'S PSYCHOLOGIST. The script runeth over with other dialogue that has never been uttered by real people. Never not once.

Awful.

Later, that creepy gaunt guy from 28 Days Later beams a video spacepostcard to his family back home and it has the look and emotional weight of a Real World/Road Rules contestant dropping wisdom in the "confessional."

Later, that creepy gaunt guy from 28 Days Later and some roid raging dude get into fisticuffs, bump into spacewalls and knock over some spaceshit. It's the kind of scene that lets the audience know THIS CREW IS UNDER EXTREME PRESSURE. It's also the kind of scene that ends with the women of the crew rolling their eyes and saying some shitty throwaway line like "Boys will be boys" which is supposed to induce the audience to knowingly chuckle. "Heh, heh, heh. Yes. Yes. Guys are stupid and fight. Yessss."

Later, that creepy gaunt guy from 28 Days Later wins the obligatory "Shit, there's only one space suit left but there are three of us/You go back to the ship while I stay here, repair the exterior of the world's largest Zildjian cymbal and die" raffle not once but twice.

Throughout this turd of a film, no one fucking notices that one of the crew members (you remember DAVE, THE SHIP'S PSYCHOLOGIST?) is apparently obsessed with self-administering skin cancer via marathon gazes directly into the sun with only the spaceship's equivalent of SPF -1,000,000 to protect him. Every time the camera cuts to this dude, another part of his face is literally fucking peeling off. And no one says a word. I was waiting for his nose to just ploop right the fuck off his face into his bowl of spacegruel in one of those mandatory "Here is the space crew eating together. Witness their shared humanity" scenes. Christ, will no one pass this freak a styptic pencil?

Michelle Yeoh is in this poopy flick, which is nice, but she throws nary a jump sidekick, which frankly makes my pee-pee hurt.

At one point in this stinky poo-poo fest, the ship's crew receives the mandatory, paint-by-numbers distress signal from the last, long-lost cymbalship that attempted to drop bizombs on the sun (Now, a crippled ghost ship, of course. Must've been a Paiste.) and what appears to be a naked Freddy Krueger stows away while the two ships are shacked up together.

Freddy turns out to be some sort of super-sentient being/survivor from the first doomed ship that turns every scene he's in into a bizarro lens-smeared-with-Vaseline David Lynch fest. Apparently, when you get really really close to the sun, having no epidermis is actually a plus and makes you kinda immortal. And smudgey.

Or something. Who the hell knows. Shoulda seen Transformers.

July 13, 2007
I am completely and intractably trapped in the indecision of another fine menu.