The Post-Modern Prometheus

Something has been unleashed upon an unsuspecting world on this day. Something so terrifying, so malformed, that it stands as unassailable proof that there is no God. This abomination's very existence contradicts the laws of nature. This thing should not be, and yet it is, mocking us at every turn.

I am, of course, referring to the motion picture I, Frankenstein, based on the comic book nobody ever read also known as I, Frankenstein, an idea that sprung fully formed from the furrowed brow of that impossibly-deep-voiced actor/writer/horseman of the apocalypse, Kevin Grevioux, that guy who dreamed up the original concept for Underworld back in the day. You remember that brilliant setup, right? Vampires fighting werewolves with guns, everybody's wearing long coats, Kate Beckinsale struts around in skin-tight latex, Scott Speedman exists, and Michael Sheen and Bill Nighy prove that they are not above slumming it for a paycheck. Bill Nighy continued to prove this point by returning for two more chapters in the Underworld franchise in order to pay for his vacation home on Johnny Depp's private island.

Kevin Grevioux has a degree in microbiology, but instead of trying to do anything relevant in this ruined old world, the man has chosen to make it slightly worse by brainstorming shit like this for kicks while he counts his money, cackling like a deranged James Bond villain in his secret volcano lair. It's a sad state of affairs, ladies and gentlemen. At this very moment, I, Frankenstein is playing in theatres all across the United States of America. Think about that for a moment. This thing somehow defied all the odds and clawed its way out of the womb of Hollywood, forcing itself into existence through sheer force of will, and its very birth has snuffed out another flickering flame of creativity and originality in this world, helping to pave the road to cinematic perdition.

So before you rush to the cinema to view I, Frankenstein, which is sure to be the movie of the decade, take a few minutes to listen to a pair of drunk dudes trying to decipher the plot of the film having only seen the trailer in the latest installment of Celluloid Cellar! That's right, the podcast nobody asked for has finally returned after a long hibernation to discuss what is shaping up to be the absolute worst mistake Aaron Eckhart will ever make in his life, and you are lucky enough to live in a world where this podcast exists. So sit back and enjoy it:

Celluloid Cellar: I, Baconstein



I'll be back with more stuff at some unspecified date in the future. Unless I find something better to do, which isn't likely.

TIME MARCHES ON!