As the
comic-book marriage of two floundering action/sci-fi/horror franchises, the Aliens
Vs. Predator movies
were bound to be a whole more awkward than the sum of their parts. The
not-insubstantial trick of it would be to acknowledge the Frankenmovie
goofiness of the premise while still managing some thrills and scares along the
way. The first AVP
movie, from Resident Evil maestro Paul W.S. Anderson, at least satisfied one side of
the equation, embracing a supremely dorky mythology involving expository
hieroglyphs, a pyramid system buried 2,000 feet below the Antarctic surface,
and predators hunting aliens for sport. The sequel, AVP: Requiem, is somehow a significant drop-off
in quality—a tasteless, witless, mindlessly perfunctory bloodbath that
has the discourtesy to take itself seriously. Pitting aliens against predators
may be the height of frivolity, but God forbid anyone have fun with it.
Picking off
where the last one left off—what, don't you remember?—AVP:
Requiem starts on a
predator ship heading off into space after wrapping up that whole Antarctica
situation. Trouble is, one of their fallen comrades has become host to an alien
parasite, resulting in a predator-alien hybrid (a pralien? an alidator?) that
forces the ship to crash land in small-town Colorado. After a hunter and his
son are impregnated in short order, a city full of America's blandest
stereotypes comes under siege, leaving beleaguered sheriff John Ortiz to fight
off the invasion while waiting for the National Guard. Meanwhile, another
predator arrives to wipe out the alien infestation, though it's not terribly
concerned if humans wind up as collateral damage.
The keys to
the AVP kingdom
have been handed over to "The Brothers Strause," Greg and Colin, a pair of
visual effects artists who have music-video experience (Nickelback, Disturbed,
and Staind are among their dubious clientele), but haven't learned how to turn
shots into sequences. Screenwriter Shane Salerno, who's credited with Armageddon and the Shaft remake, provides the D-list cast
with stock subplots (a pizza delivery boy trying to impress a hot girl, an Army
mother home from active duty, a juvenile troublemaker made good) and dialogue
that begs for some levity. Together, the filmmakers excel only at providing
memorably repugnant imagery, including a small boy who watches his father's
chest get ripped apart seconds before his own and aliens run riot in a
maternity ward full of newborns and expectant mothers. The door is left open
for another sequel; if someone would kindly shut it and board it up, that would
be much appreciated.