By James Fagan
Cloverfield is a testament to the human will to survive, the determination of mind of matter, and the realization that with the right amount of motivation man can do anything.
I’m not talking about the plot; I’m talking about my ability to make it through the entire thing without vomiting.
That’s not to say that I’m better off for my efforts. I may actually feel a whole lot better if I just puke. An hour and forty minutes of camera work that looks like it was filmed by a blind epileptic monkey will leave you spending most of Cloverfield trying to keep your dinner down and staring at your knees. You’ll find yourself echoing the sentiments of those one screen: “holy shit, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.”
Cloverfield, which is a title that is never explained, is about a bunch of thirty something year olds who act like they’re fifteen. They’re having a party when a giant lizard attacks NY City. It’s sort of like Dawson’s creek meets Godzilla (the crappy remake) meets the Blaire Witch project.
The monster is disappointing at best. For those of you who are the right age to remember the Men in Black music video where Will Smith dances with an Alien, it kind of looks like that.
The acting is terrible, but that’s probably not the actor’s fault. The film claims to have a director- but it has a director in the same way that serial killers have a father: He can’t have been around very much and if he was he wasn’t very good.
Do yourself a favor. Instead of spending the money on this, spin around fifty times and knee yourself in the face. The result is about as dizzying and pointless but it will only take up ten minutes of your life.
© LameMovies.net
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