Three letters to best sum up this
film are W, T, and F, all capitalized. What could have been a strange and
unique thriller commenting on the current state of our societies’ dependence on mass
marketing to shape our ideals, opinions, and even identities ended up being a
silly and contrived attempt at mixing confusing ideology with exceptionally awful
sci-fi. The saddest part, it took two, not one, but two directors to bring
this mess to the silver screen. The only redeeming aspect was the acting,
which, for the most part, was one level above satisfactory. Everything else was atrocious. The
story, told both by the characters and via
narration, strangely sounding like Gene Roddenberry's wife (who
appears, by the way, as the outline of a
cow made up of stars in the heavens, yes, you actually read that) is convoluted
and slow. It moves so methodically that it teeters between boring and
overbearing. The plot plays like an indie conspiracy flick at first, then
quickly devolves into indescribable goofiness, overwhelming any symbolism and credible theory.
When the special effects arrive, and I use that term loosely, more
so than Lindsey Lohan's bra strap, they are remarkably disappointing and bizarre.
The only comparison I can make is Dr. Seuss on acid. I won't reveal
any more, however, the only spoiler to this movie, is seeing it. 0 out of
5 Kernels: If I could have given a negative numeric value, I would.
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