Daybreakers

Meh.  My review in a nutshell.

I’m getting kind of tired of vampires actually.  First popularized by Bram Stoker who, there’s some reason to believe, was a repressed homosexual in Victorian England – one of the worst places to be a repressed homosexual, I’m guessing – vampires originally dripped with a genuine horror of male-female sexuality.  Consider Stoker’s horrifying description of Arthur driving a stake into the heart of his undead fiance [don't read if you're easily horrified]:

“The thing in the coffin writhed, and a hideous, bloodcurdling screech came from the opened red lips. The body shook and quivered and twisted in wild contortions. The sharp white teeth champed together till the lips were cut, and the mouth was smeared with a crimson foam. But Arthur never faltered. He looked like a figure of Thor as his untrembling arm rose and fell, driving deeper and deeper the mercy-bearing stake, whilst the blood from the pierced heart welled and spurted up around it. His face was set, and high duty seemed to shine through it. The sight of it gave us courage so that our voices seemed to ring through the little vault.

And then the writhing and quivering of the body became less, and the teeth seemed to champ, and the face to quiver. Finally it lay still. The terrible task was over.”

I’m no Freudian but, yeah, that sounds like the bad version of Saturday night to me.

The trouble is, now that everybody screws each other constantly and dare I say soullessly, vampires are kind of the new normal.  Which is exactly the premise of this film, come to think of it!

But that’s the last really interesting thing I can say about it.  Oh, all right, I confess:  the truth is, after the guy’s head exploded about ten minutes in, I asked myself, “Klavan, my boy, is this really how you want to spend the dwindling minutes of your life?”  Then I dozed a bit.  Then I fast forwarded.  Then it was over.  On the other hand, if exploding heads are your bag, go for it.  Or go for help.