(I've had that line lick of sense in my head all day. How terrible.)
Now, I liked Pitch Black. I think it's a groovy little film, stylish, and with a cool central character in Diesel's Riddick. It reminded me of Kurt Russell's Snake Plissken, the central character in Escape from New York and Escape From L.A., which I consider to be fine little films. But the Chronicles of Riddick, which is a title that doesn't make sense itself, is a big budget, beautiful looking film, that never ever makes sense as a single whole, and tries vainly to raise it out of the little, character orientated, black humoured, science fiction thriller that it should have been.
I could sit here and type a whole thing about the problems. I could ask why Twohy, the director, felt it necessary to name everything with such heavy handed stupidity. I could ask why all that destiny crap. I could ask why they wasted Judi Dench and her cool looking character. And I could tell you all about the moment where I remembered one of the Conan films, though I'm unsure which (I'm thinking the second one) and how it left this bad taste in my mouth when I had, finally, gotten to the point where I accepted that I was no longer viewing a film that was a single whole, but rather a series of clips for a season of Riddick on TV, spread out over twenty two episodes or so. I could go on and on, but what would be the point? Twohy and Diesel aren't going to come past this blog, and they're not going to go, "Holy shit, that guy I've never met or heard of in Australia is abso-fucking-lutely right."
But they should, because I am, and their film still doesn't one a lick of sense.