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A great big rock hits the earth, and lots of people die. That's pretty much all there is to it, and most of that was in the trailer. Can a major Hollywood movie really squeak by with such a slender excuse for a premise? The old disaster-movie king, cheese-meister Irwin Allen (
The Poseidon Adventure,
Earthquake), would have made a kitsch classic out of this, with Charlton Heston, rather than a resigned and mumbly Robert Duvall, as the veteran astronaut who risks several lives trying to blow up the comet that's
headed right this way! As stiffly directed by Mimi Leder, this thick slice of ham errs on the side of solemnity. It may the be most earnest end-of-the-world picture since Stanley Kramer's atomic-doom drama
On the Beach. There are a couple of classic melodramatic flourishes: an estranged father and daughter who share a tearful reconciliation as a Godzilla-sized tidal wave looms on the horizon; and an astronaut, communicating on video with his loved ones back on Earth, who follows whispered instructions from a buddy lurking just off camera--so that his little boy won't realize that he's been struck blind. With Morgan Freeman as the president of the United States.
--David Chute
From The New Yorker
A dire warning that should concern us all. You may feel safe in your bed, but be warned: even as you sleep, Earth is under threat from a vast, overheated surplus of character actors. How can they all fit into one silly movie? Could anyone really have Vanessa Redgrave and Maximilian Schell for her parents and still turn out, you know, O.K.? What is Robert Duvall doing in space? And, finally, just how deeply do you want Morgan Freeman to be President? All these questions are answered by Mimi Leder's clumpy apocalypse flick, in which our planet is approached by an enormous, flame-grilled asteroid with extra cheese. A party of astronauts is dispatched to divide the rock into manageable pieces, but one chunk still makes it through and splashes down off the East Coast; the resulting tidal wave, though undeniably destructive, resembles a giant Elvis quiff. Téa Leoni, playing a TV reporter, tries heroically to make light of the menace, but the tearful script finally wears her down. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker