Cinemavenger

   The funniest, nastiest movie reviews anywhere.

San Andreas

Before we get to the tectonic travesty that is San Andreas, Cinemavenger's got a little Tomorrowland follow-up fo' yo' asses. 

Since Tomorrowland tanked after its release last week, a bunch of drooling dumbfucks have taken to the Interwebs claiming that this proves that audiences will only shell out for reboots, remakes and sequels and don't, contrary to popular belief, crave original stories anymore. 

Wipe your chins, you aforementioned fucks of dumb!  Tomorrowland's slo-mo crash and burn isn't because audiences won't line up for original material; IT'S BECAUSE TOMORROWLAND IS DISASTROUSLY MEDIOCRE!!!  End of fucking story.

Speaking of disasters, the "earthquake swarm" (bullshit!) in San Andreas takes out the Hoover Dam, destroys Los Angeles like fat Elvis at a Country Buffet and lays Old Testament-style waste to San Francisco.  Yet it makes you feel nothing.  No tension.  No suspense.  No concern for any character.  No curiosity about the fate of a favorite landmark.  Nada.

If that ain't a disaster, I don't know what is.

Seriously San Andreas, how do you fuck up generating even an iota of empathy from your viewers despite massacring millions of men, women and wee little babies while obliterating most of California?  The Poseidon Adventure did it with 5% of your budget and no CGI on an upside down cruise ship during a time when the world was still battling bell-bottoms.

Could it be because your "hero" is actually a complete asshole?  Ray Gaines (Dwayne "What Are These 'Steroids' Of Which You Speak" Johnson), is supposed to be a duty-bound, best-of-the-best, full-time professional rescuer with the L.A. Fire Department, but even though he has orders to fly to Nevada to assist in rescue efforts there after the Hoover Dam collapses, he doesn't hesitate for a nanosecond before blowing that off - and taking the LAFD's rescue helicopter with him - to go save his wife and daughter.

Holy dereliction of duty, Batman!

Gaines then proceeds to ignore every single other person between L.A. and San Fran during the biggest natural disaster in California history.  Old couple stranded by the side of the road?  Fuck 'em.  Bloodied and dazed walking wounded everywhere you look?  Not my fucking problem.  Survivors desperately signaling with mirrors from inside crumbling, rapidly flooding buildings?  I'm on my fucking break!

So your main character is a selfish sonuvabitch of Trumpian proportions, and his wife, Emma (Carla "Steady Workin' Since the '80s" Gugino), isn't any better.  At least their daughter, Blake (Alexandra "Bodacious Boobs On Display in True Detective" Daddario), shows a little compassion - and copious cleavage - as she saves Brit bros Ben (should've been "Stan") and Ollie.

Paul "I'm Not Yelling" Giamatti fills the disaster movie quota of at least one legit actor as the seismologist who's able to predict earthquakes . . . just not early enough to really help anyone.  You gotta love Giamatti.  When they first realize that The Big One (Hear that Elizabeth?  I'm coming to join you!) is on the way, one of his seismology assistants asks him, "Who should we call?"  It's as obvious as tits on the Pope that all Giamatti wants to do is yell, "Ghostbusters!"

San Andreas.  Shitty to a fault.