Recently I’ve been having a recurring daydream that I go on ‘The X Factor’ and belt out a standing ovation-worthy rendition of Nina Simone’s ‘Love Me Or Leave Me’ that’s so impressive Simon Cowell offers me £1,000,000 on the spot.
Instead of accepting I launch into a tirade against the corruption of consumerism and how reality shows are stopping the true progress of music and blah blah, whingey, pretentious balls. The audience, instead of booing, simply get up and leave the studio, the viewers at home switch off and all the wannabe contestants go out and make new, original music. I return to my day job.
Why mention this in a film review? Glad you asked. Because as shallow and manipulative as the ‘pop music’ industry is, the film industry can be just as bad. Perfect example, this ‘cover version’ of The Descent.
Picking up where the American release left off (i.e. Sarah, the ginger Scottish one, not stuck in a hole slowly dying but instead escaping to freedom) we find a whole new host of pot-holing adventurers excited to the point of wood by spending days crawling around in the dark. At least this time the ‘adventurers’ are actually looking for something, the survivors of the first movie. All plausible enough until the boo-hiss Sheriff decides that half-comatose, amnesia-ridden, chief suspect Sarah (who has only been out of the hole a day) should join them. Nice one Sheriff.
It’s this kind of lazy stupidity that makes The Descent: Part 2 so annoying. The original was an intense, fairly original, deeply scary horror film. The sequel, if not for Sarah’s inclusion, would be a direct-to-DVD retread. By adding character(s) from the first, Part 2 tries to be a worthy addition to the ‘saga’. Its goal is completely missed, instead becoming grating and making you wonder if the first was even that good to begin with. If it had an Aliens-style revenge theme, as the poster suggests, it was lost on me.
The splat and ewww is present and correct. The darkness is still…dark. The beasts are still so ugly that even at a Christmas party after 57 glasses of eggnog you wouldn’t. And that might be all some people want. But, all in all, the film is just pointless. Like an adequate singer on a Saturday night entertainment show singing a song they didn’t write and don’t feel. And who’d want to watch that?