Movies: Nick Fury, Magica de Spell, Godzilla, the guy from Die Hard, Evel Knievel, and Dracula.

The subtitle of Resident Evil: Afterlife comes dangerously to being a frank admission on the part of Paul W. S. Anderson. It's as if he was too honest to not telegraph the fact that the series, which was creatively bankrupt after the first 20 minutes of the first flick nearly ten years ago, had entered into a zombie stage. Though without the terrible menace the Z word implies. There's absolutely nothing dangerous about this lazy jumble of stolen visual references and tired plot points. No, the RE franchise is a zombie the way a zombie bank is a zombie: It's a decaying institution whose prior profitability was mistaken for fitness, a delusion that keeps number crunching bureaucrats ordering code blues every couple of years.

A plot summary gives this film too much credit. It shows continuity insomuch as there are some reoccurring characters, notably our superpowered heroine Alice. It should be said, however, that it lacks continuity insomuch as the first 10 to 15 minutes of the flick work diligently to ensure that almost nothing of significance from the previous films comes into play in this one. The army of super Alices? They all go ka-boom. Alice Prime's superpowers? She loses them to some injection of pseudo-science. (Though, as far as I can tell, the superpowers were understood to be something built into her as she was an artificial being, and not some enhanced human. Whatever. The phrase "as far as I can tell" reveals I've already spent more time sweating the details of this flick than the screenwriter did.)

(Wait. Hold on.)

(Okay. I had to check. IMDB says, yes, despite all evidence to the contrary, this film did have a screenwriter. It was auteur, Mr. Anderson himself. He's truly the Orson Welles of utterly shitty video game adaptation zombie schlock crap franchises.)

Instead of a plot summary, the best way to understand this film is to think of it as a near film made out of clips from other flicks. Matrix, Blade 2, the Dawn of the Dead remake, the most recent I Am Legend, Aliens . . . the list goes on and on. And this isn't an homage, or a a confluence of subtexts, a genre-centric blazon[1], or any other fancy-pants term one might have picked up from that freshman intro to film studies course. Instead, it's like somebody signed of on a huge budget for Paulie A's big ass game of backyard war. For those unfamiliar with backyard war because you were never a young boy, the game's pretty simple. Everybody announces who they are. For example: "I'm Robocop" or "I'm King Arthur" or "I'm Wolverine." Then you fight. You might ask, "So, under what circumstances, exactly, would Nick Fury, Magica de Spell, Godzilla, the guy from Die Hard, Evel Knievel, and Dracula all be fighting?" To which Paulie A. would answer, "Don't queer the magic, dude. It's money. Let them fight."

(As an aside, John McClane, Evel Knievel, and Nick Fury surprisingly teamed-up with Drac and saved the day. I know, WTF? But it happened. I was there.)

Sadly, Anderson's willingness to just throw anything into the blender is matched by a palate that hasn't stretched past the most obvious selections of horror-nerd culture from the past decade or so. He's like a dude cutting lose in his own basement man-cave. Sure, he's breaking all kinds of feet-on-the-furniture rules, but what is it really getting us.

Honestly, of all the broken metaphors I've offered up tonight, that's the closest I'll get. This flick is the equivalent of watching Paul W. S. Anderson recline on his couch and tuck his hand snuggly, comfortably, Bundyishly, into his slacks. If that's your thing, right on, mang.

Though, be honest, you know you played far cooler games of backyard war, and it didn't cost ya' nothing.

Movies: "In my evil corporation, the end of the world will mean every day is casual Friday from now on."

My wife walks into the living room where I'm watching Russell Mulchay's Resident Evil: Extinction, his Anderson penned, '07 contribution to the surprisingly long-running film arm of the Resident Evil cross platform franchise. She sits down on the couch.

W: Is this that zombie movie?

CRwM: Sort of. It's like a zombie movie set in the world of Thunderdome. Though the zombies don't seem that important in this one, really. And they swapped in an evil corporation instead of Tina Turner.

W: That was the movie's first mistake. Is Leeloo Multipass wearing chaps?

CRwM: There more like garters. Combat garters.

W: Combat garters?

CRwM: So she doesn't overheat.

W: Is she a robot?

CRwM: No. She's like a clone super-soldier thing with psychic powers. I'm thinking that there was middle movie between the first flick and this one and, as astounding as it seems watching this, I think we're expected to have watched all these films in order, for continuity. Though, honestly, knowing why Leeloo Multipass has to vent heat through her upper thighs wouldn't, I think, make much difference in your like or dislike of this thing.

W: You're making this up.

CRwM: Not the psychic super-soldier clone thing. The heat venting isn't so much made up as a conclusion that I'm drawing. Her other clones do most of their fighting in combat boots and a little red party dress.

W: You're making that up.

CRwM: No, seriously. And that's all I can figure. Psychic super-soldiers must require that their nether regions be free of constricting cover. Since Leeloo is clearly a mouth breather, I'm assuming that it isn't an oxygen exchange issue. And nothing is, um, exuded from there – so it isn't, um. Anyway, I'm deducing that it is a heat sink dealie.

W: That's quite a deduction.

CRwM: Perhaps "I'm choosing to believe" would have better described the mental process.

W: I don't think I gave this movie enough credit for complexity.

CRwM: That's its secret power. Most films require suspension of disbelief. This flick demands massive applications of directed and purposeful nonsense theorizing just to process even the smallest parts of it. In a way, it's very involving. Kinda.

W: Hey, the lady from Heroes!

CRwM: Yeah. She's the leader of this convoy of pure strain humans. Getting them safely to Alaska, where presumably the virus that causes all this trouble hasn't spread, is the conflict here. There's also something between Leeloo and that guy, who I'm calling Mr. Rugged. Though I think that's explained in the missing middle flick. But you'll find their relationship is inert enough that not knowing what their deal is in no way impacts your understanding of their interactions.

Scenes pass.

W: Suits. This must be the evil corporation.

CRwM: Yeah. Though why they are still a corporation is weird. Like, the world ended. The shareholders either live in bunkers or are zombie chow. There is no more profit or loss because there's no economic system except, maybe, barter. And yet these guys still wear suits and have ID pass lanyards and stuff. In my evil corporation, the end of the world will mean every day is casual Friday from now on.

W: I wonder if they still swap business cards when they meet. "Hi, Mitchell from Trading-Cigarettes-for-Bullets division." "Hi Bill. I'm Feinstein, from Hiding-in-Bunker, and this is Davidson, from Accounts Payable."

CRwM: See, the movie's kind of generous in the amount of room it gives you to fill in the details.

W: That's one way to think of it.