Movie Review: Cloverfield--Don't Go

If you’re looking for a movie to check out this weekend, Rambo’s the one. Cloverfield is not.

My firstborn male child attended last nights’ midnight premier of the fourth Rambo ruckus-fest, and was still wired from the experience when I left for work this morning.

My Bride and I chose to see Cloverfield last night, based on the interesting movie poster and the ads we’ve sene on TV. That's also how we decide on breakfast cereals, too.

This was the biggest waste of $18 I can remember in a long time. If this is what film making of the future is going to be about, please let me go blind now.

Cloverfield is a bad example of what happens when you give your kid a video camera for Christmas, because it looks like it took about a month to think up, shoot, and then talk someone into distributing the mess.

I predict one of two things will happen: either everyone with a video camera is going to be encouraged by Cloverfield to think they are the next Cecil B. DeMille, or video camcorderes are going to take a fall because everyone now realizes no one wants to sit through a 90-minute "mockumentary" of their lives. In a large theater.

If you're bound and determined to blow a Jackson on an experience for which no brain cells are required, go to Blockbuster or Netflicks and rent $18-worth of the cheesiest Japanese B-movie monster flicks you can find.
Probably can get a whole armload.

At least you can stop the DVD and go get free food from your refrigerator in the comfort of your own home, if you need to.