Whose Fault Is This?

There is almost a generic term called "mindless entertainment."   It usually refers to most movies that are released between Memorial Day and Labor Day.   Films that require very little thought and are primed to do nothing but sell tickets and popcorn with extra butter.  

"San Andreas" is that movie to the tee.  As mindless and insipid and stupid as they come.   With computer graphics that cost millions of dollars and a script that could have been purchased at the 99 Cent Store at the corner of Wilshire and Fairfax.  It's that kind of summer mess where you don't just leave your brain at the door, you can actually keep at home on your night table.

Yes, I went to see it.  Go figure.

Hell, I'm a sucker for earthquake movies.  I used to love the disaster movies that Irwin Allen used to produce.   Putting lots of big and former actors in peril on the roof of a skyscraper or the ballroom of a luxury liner or on top of the dam in the Hollywood Hills.  Who will live?  Who will die?  Whose toupee will fall off?   I was riveted throughout.

Of course, in "San Andreas," it's the state of California that is once again reduced to rubble and used Botox.  As if the water shortage and Jerry Brown as Governor isn't enough trouble for us.  But, if you're waiting for Paul Newman or Steve McQueen or Charlton Heston to save it, forget it.   Well, first of all, they're all dead.   But, there are some hasbeen thespians they could have employed for this swill.   So who do they get?

Carla Gugino.   You need to look her up on IMDB.

Alexandria Daddario.  You can barely find her on IMDB.

Ioan Gruffudd.  No relation to Elmer.

Yeah, nobodys.

So, that makes the star of the film that sought-after actor, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, who went to the Lee Strasburg Studio for Biceps.  As actors go, Dwayne should definitely do that.  Go, I mean.   When your film depends upon him for developing character and drive and emotion, you've apparently sunk way too much of your production budget into keep Craft Services stocked with Red Vines.

Of course, who goes to a dopey movie like this for the acting?  Okay, there is one dependable member of the cast.  Paul Giamatti as the cliche geologist who knows that three earthquakes, a tsunami, and Michelle Obama are coming to devastate Los Angeles and San Francisco.  No one, of course, listens to him, but, of course, nobody listened to the reviews of this movie because it made a fortune in its opening weekend.

A more ludicrous plot couldn't possible exist.   Dwayne, of course, is a LA First Responder who, when all the calamities start to hit, doesn't give a shit about the citizens of the state.   He simply wants to save his ex-wife and his daughter with the former being rescued as the sole survivor of seven different high rises that collapse in downtown LA.   Then, via helicopter, stolen truck, and speed boat, they high tail it up to San Francisco where they parachute into ATT Park like the Navy Seals do on opening day of the baseball season.  As he mentions to the missus, "I told you I would get you to second base."   Throughout the theater, you can hear the patrons slapping themselves in the head with disbelief.

It won't be the last time as the final hour of the film is a relentless series of explosions, implosions, and tidal waves.   Okay, the Giants ballpark gets leveled, too, and there was one big fist bump from yours truly.  But, overall, you are endlessly numbed by one disaster after another.  And, given how that Bay Bridge didn't hold up in 1989, it's shameful that the producers elected to show us that all over again.

But I suppose you don't expect logic from this kind of junk.   The type of film where one character goes through some horrific experience and all Dwayne Johnson can do is ask "are you all right?"  No, Stupid, a boulder crushed my legs and my hair is on fire.  Duh.

Indeed, "San Andreas" would have been more tolerable if you got to watch some real Grade B and C actors bite the dust.  Or have the whole thing populated with MSNBC hosts so we can gleefully watch as Rachel Maddow is decapitated by a falling glass window.  Ah, now, that would be fun.

But they heavied up on the computer graphics and cheapened down on the stunt casting.  God, why won't they let me make the next movie like this?  

For instance, at one point, there is a series of TV screens showing the coverage of all these disasters.   A CNN screen shows the White House and says it's been "rattled."   In Len's mind, the caption would have read as follows.

"Despite the devastation, President Obama refuses to cancel fund raising trip to the West Coast."

Now don't you want to see my version?

LEN'S RATING:   Two stars.

Dinner last night:  Chef's salad.