Final Destination (2000) was groundbreaking if only in that it introduced in its plot a new reason for killing teenagers: They were supposed to die in a plane crash, but they didn't. Now Death is angry/confused/resorting to mathematical formulae. FD3 is a shameless reworking of earlier moods, but it's still better than Cold Mountain.
Yes, it asks us to believe that the human body is composed largely of red goo with a soft outer shell that bursts on impact, but what wonderful things result from such a belief! Our intrepid heroes, who are trying desperately to warn The Others, keep witnessing their deaths, and, in the process, get repeatedly splattered with the gooey insides of their multicultural friends. (It's true - we are all the same on the inside!) It's vaguely pornographic, and it satisfies.
Inasmuch as this reviewer thinks about his death, he can't help thinking that a quick, splattery head-smooshing wouldn't be a bad way to go. This film gives him hope.
1 comment:
I wish the movie was as good as your review. Might be your finest review ever.
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