I talked The Fella into watching Bloodrayne.
[I had to heave a sorry sigh before I could type anything else.]
Curious about the foulness that notoriously awful director Uwe Boll foists upon an undeserving world, I insisted upon seeing the evidence. I even bounced on my toes as I waggled the DVD case at The Fella. He, who routinely comes home with packets boasting “Drive-In Classics: 50 movies on 12 DVDs!” or “Horrorlicious! Bonus features: Hostesses of Horror!,” displayed no enthusiasm, which should have been my first warning.
No. Uwe Boll should have been my first warning.
Bloodrayne takes its premise loosely from the videogame of the same name, transferring the action from WWII-era to a generic Olde Tyme of corsets, candles, and horseback. The basic narrative, if it can be said to have one, follows half-vampire Rayne as she oh I can’t go on. You don’t need to know, because you’ll never see it, because you deserve better.
We barely even laughed at at. This movie plunged too deep for laughter. I just felt sad. Sad for Michael Madsen, a fine actor trudging wanly through this muck. Sad for Geraldine Chaplin, who brought a glimmer of dignity to her small part. Only a tiny bit sad for Sir Ben Kingsley, who (based on his previous roles) clearly likes money. Sad about the action sequences, which mostly featured bit players walking stolidly up to the point of impact, carefully aiming their blood-squibs at swordpoints. Sad.
Neither of us felt even a little bit bad for beloved horror regular Udo Kier; this is exactly his kind of gig, and its pedestrian dreariness doesn’t even touch him.
Remarks I made during this film, in place of the hoots of laughter I expected:
– I feel bad.
– Michael Madsen looks so sad. So sad to be in this movie.
– This is soul-suckingly awful.
– Should we stop?
– Oh. Oh. Oh, no.
– I feel like a worse person for watching this.