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At The Movies With Peter Clease: Resident Evil: Afterlife

"My name is Alice. I had worked for the Umbrella Corporation. Five years ago, the T-Virus escaped, and everybody died. Trouble was, they didn't stay dead.

"My name is Alice. I had worked for the Umbrella Corporation. Five years ago, the T-Virus escaped, and everybody died. Trouble was, they didn't stay dead."

This passage, voiced by a Mila Jovovich, who mutters and mumbles every single line, nearly works as a direct summary of the entire plot, which is convenient; but, ultimately, it also boxes the film into a formula; then, it halves the contents, excessively so, and the uncarved are made obvious. Alice, played by the aforesaid 'actress,' is a killer, and as one, she will kill every undead creature, all of them, every squid-faced man-eater, every android; she is never satisfied: she must break every coffin, whether earthed or not, and butcher every 'living' corpse. This is her existence; the non-motive motive. Some people are doctors or lawyers or teachers, others are drunkards; Alice is the seminal funeral director. "This way, please, sir--oh, I mean, miss," she will say with a shotgun in hand. "I'm gonna use this gun here, now--yes, this one right here--to blow off the top of your skull... well, what's it called? That's a very long name. But, anyway (*putting the bullets, calmly, into the breech*), rest in peace. *Fires.*"

But, despite the rounds and rounds fired, rarely is there a happy service; at times, there is never happiness. Often, an old relative will return, and sputter on and on about simple things, easy things; the days of old, and this talk will trigger a morph into a squid. Then, the food is unacceptable: not enough human brains and legs to go around. Or, maybe, the meal has been cleared, and the guests start gorging on the deceased. It's a strange matter, and Alice is adept to oddness; though, she has yet to find herself. Literally, there is a dozen of her.

Of the film, itself, I find no beauty in the product. Jovovich has never been able to act; but in this picture, she cannot speak, either, as it seems every situation is cue for long, nonsensical mutterings. I also find none of the zombies (right?) sexy: they are gray and pasty looking; and their tentacle mouths are quite disgusting; plus, they're completely ineloquent, speaking only in screech. Yet, still, I probe and wonder the conducts of their mating rituals. Surely, the director, Paul W. S. Anderson, would know. "How do they fornicate, and for that matter, how do these creatures have babies?" I would ask. "It's simple," he would answer. "It's 'cause I keep making movies about them."

1.5 out of 5 popcorns.