MOVIE: Chaos

I honestly wanted Chaos to be a good movie. Jason Statham could have proved to be a right proper badass. Wesley Snipes could have been a world class villain, devious and crafty. And maybe, just maybe, it could present some diabolicly amazing creativity that inspired a new genre of fiction.

Unfortunately Chaos was horrible. An ungodly flop on par with Pluto Nash, The Postman, and Cutthroat Island. After 45 minutes, I went to the bathroom, and doused my face in hydrogen peroxide, to chemically scour the stain of this uberturd of a movie from my eyes.


The writing was horrendous. Trite, contrived, and utterly detached from anything faintly resembling reality. That somebody accepted the script for this movie-shaped-excrement is a crime against humanity and only furthers the theory that Hollywood is so out of ideas and has imported a troop of domesticated White Handed Gibbons to bang away on antique typewriters until they produce semi-coherent sentences which can be pasted together into a three-ring binder and called a script.

The acting was only marginally better than George Clooney's performance in Batman & Robin.
Accepting a role in this rancid duckfart of a flick should be a felony punishable by three years hard labor as Rosie O'Donnell's personal sanitary napkin. Another nail in Statham's coffin. And another untaxed unwarranted paycheck for Snipes. I guess nobody called to pick up his offer on Blade IV - Suck It.

Forty minutes worth of plot was fruitless and potentially sterilizing. I may not be able to reproduce now. Nothing was original in the few scenes I suffered through. There was even an extremely bad car chase that served no purpose other than cause my braincells to consume each other rather than try to etch memories of Chaos onto my poor, trembling brain.

I likely would have walked out of this movie if I'd been stupid enough to see it in the theater. Hopefully I would not have slipped and thrown a disc on the slow, creeping puddles of vomit spewed onto the aisles by other the handful of other horrified patrons. We could have formed a survivors' group. And watched each others teeth and hair fallout over the following months in the wake of exposure to the painful glare.

Not a date flick. Not a kid flick. Nothing an able-bodied, sane-minded human needs to see. I pray for the day I'll be able to forget the not-few-enough moments of theatrical putrification that I unfortunately managed to endure. At least the hydrogen peroxide worked.