Tomb Raider (2001)
Angelina Jolie, John Voight, etc; d. Simon West; No Grade

It started with Angelina Jolie fighting a robot.

It ended with Nicole Kidman shaking her diamond-studded koochie in front of a partially confused, partially stimulated Ewan McGregor.

A funny thing happened on the way to the end of Tomb Raider: I walked out. I walked out because I was bored. I walked out because I was agitated. I walked out because, watching this horrid peice of turd, I almost lost my faith in film. I walked into Moulin Rouge because that faith needed to be restored. I would have walked into Pearl Harbor to restore my faith in Jon Voight and explosions. I would have walked into Swordfish to restore my faith in the use of techno in film, since a projectionist said he liked the music in Swordfish. Tomb Raider was just plain old awful, so boring, so unexciting, so formulatic, so underdeveloped, so inable to make me care about anything that went on in the film, that I walked out. I couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't want to be rude to my mom but I felt that was the only way out. To walk out. So I walked into Moulin Rouge. Tomb Raider put a frown on my face but I smiled seeing the first fifteen minutes of Moulin Rouge.

I don't want to explain why I hated Tomb Raider, because that would mean remembering the film. I don't want to remember it. I want it to be burried in the back of my mind. I want it to burn like the picture Leonard Shelby had of Jimmy Grants. I want it to go away. And I don't want you to see it.

Tomb Raider sucked.

© Vert A Go Go Reviews 2001