Kerr Smith

My favorite part of every modern vampire movie is the inevitable scene in which the vampire leader (if the bloodsuckers are the protagonists) or the vampire hunter (if they're the antagonists) explains to an uninitiated character that all the popular myths about vampires are completely inaccurate.

"Here's the truth" they always say, then go on to explain the vampire rules made up to fit the plot shortcomings of that particular movie.

In "The Forsaken" -- a glossy, gory, half-heartedly hip attempt to remake "The Lost Boys" for the "Coyote Ugly" generation -- the ghouls are little more than Gap models with faded tans. They don't have fangs, they don't have any supernatural powers to speak of, and they're too lazy even to kill with a good old-fashioned bite to the jugular. They generally just shoot their prey and quaff their fill of plasma from the bullet wound. What a bunch of slackers.

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"Hit and Runway" is the kind of shoestring budget, mock-autobiographical, tongue-in-cheek film festival trinket that has an endearing charm despite the fact that it just screams "my first feature."

Written and directed by unpolished rookie Christopher Livingson, the story is about Alex (Michael Parducci), a hopelessly inept struggling screenwriter whose only ambition is to get rich banging out simplistic action movies in which the hero sleeps with supermodels and belts out zingers like "Freeze you scuzbucket piece of Eurotrash!"

He lives in the basement of his family's Greenwich Village cafe, busses tables part time and dreams of signing a ruggedly wooden action megastar named Jagger Evans (Hoyt Richards) to one of his creations.

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"Final Destination" begins with an unusually fresh and amply terrifying scene in which a nondescript horror movie prototeen (Devon Sawa) has a vivid, realistic, and special effects-laden premonition that the 747 he's just boarded will explode on take-off.

In his vision, the cabin shakes violently, overhead compartments blast open and passengers scramble desperately for dropping air masks just before a fireball rips down the aisles. To the audience, it feels like the theater seats have been transported onboard the quaking airliner.

Snapped awake in a sweat from his incubus, Sawa ("Idle Hands") flips out and bolts for the exit. When his friends try to calm him down, they all get dragged off the plane and left in the terminal where they watch helplessly as -- you guessed it -- the jet goes kaplewy in mid-air, killing everyone aboard.

Continue reading: Final Destination Review