Reżyseria:
Neil MarshallScenariusz:
Neil MarshallZdjęcia:
Sam McCurdyMuzyka:
Tyler BatesObsada:
Rhona Mitra, Adrian Lester, Malcolm McDowell, Bob Hoskins, Alexander Siddig, David O'Hara, Nora-Jane Noone, Sean Pertwee, Rick Warden (więcej)Opisy(1)
Po zdziesiątkowaniu ludności Wielkiej Brytanii przez śmiercionośnego wirusa, władze decydują się na wybudowanie olbrzymiego muru, który ma powstrzymać zarażonych przed opuszczeniem skażonego terenu - Szkocji. Mur wyposażony w najnowocześniejszą broń staje się barierą, której nikt nie może przekroczyć żywy. Szkocja zostaje odcięta od reszty świata, na zawsze... Kiedy wirus zwany "Żniwiarzem" został już zapomniany, w Londynie pojawiają się jego nowe ofiary. W obliczu epidemii i doniesień o oznakach życia po drugiej stronie muru rząd decyduje się wysłać tam elitarny oddział w poszukiwaniu antidotum. Grupie dowodzonej przez Eden Sinclair (Rhona Mitra) zostaje powierzona misja odnalezienia prac Dr. Kane'a, który był bliski odkrycia lekarstwa na wirusa, gdy ten uderzył po raz pierwszy. Co leży za murem jest wielką tajemnicą. To, co odkryją członkowie oddziału, przekracza granice wszelkich wyobrażeń... (Best Film)
(więcej)Materiały wideo (2)
Recenzje (11)
It's as if Neil Marshall is making fun of the whole world. He's got a lot more money than he's used to and he's totally off the rails. There's a lot of gloriously uncompromising violence, badass one-liners, and a perfectly cracking atmosphere. It has its charms and you can tell it doesn't take itself seriously at all, but unless you grew up on Escape from New York and watch Mad Max twice a year, it's probably not going to work for you. The editing could be less chaotic.
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The descendants of William Wallace (aka Mel Gibson) and Mad Max (Gibson again, yuck, shame on you Mel!) in a version for 2035 dance a C-grade cancan at the Grindhouse club accompanied by the A-grade rhythm of “Známky punku" (Signs of Punk) by Czech punk band Visací zámek (Padlock). And I join in with Marshall and his crazed pogoing. I as keen as a little kid who’s going to meet Sponge Bob for the first time. The supposedly confused editing didn’t bother me (unlike The Descent) and so I would only fault the needlessly long foreplay to the crazy ride that starts at the precise moment when the first punk Mohawk appears. So don’t spit in this punk-rocker’s face, every movie appeals to somebody’s taste. And let’s hope Doomsday will appeal to enough people for Neil to attract some further projects to the future. It would be a shame to lose him, especially if he gave us more five-star sequences like the forty minutes from escaping from the platform through the adaptation of Twain’s Yankee from Connecticut to King Arthur’s court, all the way to the ending car chase in the Bentley.
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This B-movie is a mix of everything we’ve seen a hundred times before, without a single idea, with hard-to-follow action scenes and flat characters. The more space Neil Marshall tries to cover – be it as a screenwriter or as a director – the more he messes up. And Doomsday is his most expansive film yet.
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Of course, the editing is at medium (at least), and it's alarming that the director can't work with such trivial prototypes of the characters he prescribed, but I really enjoyed the structure of the film, which is not stupid at all - it's even playful and reflected. It is a combination of computer game fields (de facto 3 distinctly stylized maps - realpolitik London, punk Glasgow and the medieval Highlands) with a plot of descent into the heart of darkness (including highlighted moments of "transitions" of space-time zones - a steel gate, a steam train and a tunnel under the hill). To take it apart a little more seriously: on the one hand we have pragmatic politician-dominated London, in between an anarchist zone of pure libido and uncontrolled instincts, and on the other hand the "science and intellect" spectrum, which has degenerated into a dark tyranny of the enlightened mind. In the meantime, the protagonist cheerfully surfs, does not negotiate a world remedy and returns to where the whole film belongs - to the cheerful, decadent and entertaining-cannibalistic level (by the way, if the action sequences are edited shitty, the cannibalistic pop culture feast is brilliant!). The order of politicians is corrupt, the scholars have gone mad, so the slightly mutilated Rhona Mitra is one of the raffish Scottish punk and anarchists. No great salvation. I'm very sorry that a second film won't be created, where the suits will fight the enchanted cannibals in kilts. For a long time now, no "childish revolt" had amused me as much as the purposefully naive anarchist rebel Doomsday (a luxurious shiny Bentley vs. Mad Max wrecks... a steaming crowd waiting for a ration of human flesh with plastic plates... like WTF? This is simply brazenly stupid and not superficially stupid). Marshall simply serves declining entertainment without pretense - human meat is grilled to the sound of pop hits. Oh yeah.
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Lacking any sense of proportion, common sense, and higher filmmaking ambition, Neil Marshall commits the craziest cinematic theft on the m2 film box. But he also damn well entertains us for a hundred minutes, lecturing at the High School of Grindhouse in a latex suit, punk haircut, and sword in hand, in a distinguished British style. Hopefully someone will attend the class and learn something.
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