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The Final Destination

September 16, 2009

The Final Destination has done pretty good business, aptly performing a real smash and grab raid on attendances in its first two weeks (it topped the charts in the US and UK recently). But now it is fading swiftly. This tells us something. This tells us it’s shit, and that people have worked that out.

Yes, yes, yes, of course, I am aware that such things should be self-evident to begin with, and admittedly I’m somewhat appalled it has made such a big noise at the end of the summer. Clearly, the prospect of seeing absurdly staged death scenes in 3D has dragged people along. I don’t know. I mean, I only went because a) I got in for nothing, and b) I don’t write for the Daily Mail, which, I feel, weirdly obliges me to ‘see’ a movie if I want to review it.

But, yes, surely it was obvious? It’s the third sequel of a franchise that should never have been a franchise in the first place. OK, so the first film had a bit of chutzpah about it (one genuinely memorable shock, a bit of craft in the use of character names, and more than enough energy to keep things rocking along) but beyond that, did it deserve to me remade? And re-made? And remade? No, of course not. They are all, after all, the same movie. Someone will bleat that this is 3D, though. It is. It doesn’t help. It’s still a steaming stool, whether you think it’s glooping out of the screen towards you, or just a flat excremental image. You can’t polish a turd.

No, the reason for The Final Destination is simple. It’s a quick get ’em in exercise, and hurry, because we probably only have a month before anyone cottons on.

Still, they don’t detain you too long. 82 minutes it lasts: the same amount of time that Nicole Richie, whoever she is, spent in jail for drug driving; the same amount of time that Michael Jackson’s doctor delayed calling 911. Is that a sign? Those brainless dunderheads who believe in numerology could probably rustle you up an unconvincing theory as to why it’s important.

I’ll just go with coincidence, but, yes, 82 minutes. And I think I probably would rather have been locked in a cell, or curled lifeless on the bedroom floor, than sit through this shocking waste of time and resources.

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