It"s big, it"s stupid, it"s pretty kick-ass. That"s about all you need to know about
Summer "98"s loudest testosterone-fest, the second in a death-from-above double header
that started off last month with the weak Deep Impact. As helmed by "bigger is better"
wunderkind Bay, Armageddon ups the ante from that previous film by replacing Robert
Duvall"s hero-named-Tanner with Willis" hero-named-Stamper, gigantifying the incoming
asteroid and wiping out more cities, faster, louder, wilder (particularly nice is
the End of Paris, and, presumably, Euro-Disney). Bay wastes no time in getting to
the action, leaving the planet just 18 measly days between discovery and impact (Deep
Impact had near as many months). Alerted to the problem after a few "Volkswagen-sized"
particles redecorate Times Square (in a nice comic touch, one of the asteroid"s first
victims turns out to be a street-corner Godzilla vendor), NASA director Dan Truman
(a slimmed-down Thornton) hires the world"s best deep-core oil drillers -- headed
by crusty Harry Stamper (Willis) -- to rendezvous with the asteroid just shy of the
moon, sink a supernuke in it, and blow it off course. Willis, who one of these days
is going to get an Academy Award for Best Squint, is ideal for the role, though I
had the feeling he was borrowing heavily from the Ed Harris character in James Cameron"s
The Abyss. (His whole team, in fact, seems recycled from that film, which in turn
was recycled from World War II G.I. epics like The Fighting Seabees.) It should go
without saying that supporting characters like Buscemi, Wilson, and Campbell are
there for the ricocheting of one-liners, and that Liv Tyler"s lips are the most emotionally
expressive thing in the film. This is of little consequence in the summer blockbuster
wars, in which storylines are lost and forgotten amidst the charred rubble of whatever
metropolis "gets it" next and the quality of the effects is more important than the
quality of the acting. Bearing that in mind, Armageddon has very impressive effects
(not the least of which is making Steve Buscemi into a believable ladykiller). Bay
hammers the linear narrative home with the indefatigable strength of John Henry pounding
steel, never stopping for breath, and never allowing the audience time to ponder
the various incongruities that pop up. His golden-lighted, amber-waves-of-grain patriotism
(and there is much of it, usually in slow motion, always accompanied by elegiac music)
begins to grate about 10 minutes into the film, but if you look at it as a bizarre
comic element it"s that much easier to stomach. No one in his or her right mind is
going to take this juggernaut explode-o-thon seriously, of course, but as far as
popcorn-grubbing eye candy with deafening sound and plenty of cheeseball Aerosmith
tuneage (and progeny), it"s great fun. And what other film this summer opens with
Charlton Heston as the Voice of God intoning global doom? Not a one.
--Marc Savlov
Full Length Reviews
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