Perhaps the best part of my experience in going to see "Underworld" was the hundred-foot-tall Jenna Jameson billboard in Times Square. "Who says they cleaned up Times Square?" states the billboard. After seeing "Underworld," I thought that perhaps Jenna was right. Perhaps if they can still show trash like this wanna-be "Matrix" with vampires and werewolves, then Times Square has not cleaned up one bit. Then again, neither has Hollywood. Come to think of it, everyone involved with this film is going to spend a long time cleaning the blotches it has left on their careers. Sound harsh? You haven't heard the half of it. "Underworld" is quite possibly the worst, most derivative, and completely pointless genre film made since "Fear Dot Com," and even that little mishap had a couple of moments. This film has absolutely nothing worth recommending other than Kate Beckinsale in tight leather, and you can see that for free on the trailers.

That said, let's get to the plot. Selene (Beckinsale) is a vampire who has spent centuries as a part of the "Death Dealers," an elite squad of commandoes whose sole purpose is the complete destruction of the "Lycans" (that's werewolves to you and me). Apparently there's this ages-old feud between the two species that couldn't even be stopped by the death of Lucian, the head Lycan. In fact, the feud has grown in intensity over the six centuries since Lucian's death. At the top of the film, Selene and the Death Dealers track some Lycans into the subway, a shootout ensues, and a couple of vampires die, and a couple of Lycans die. In the midst of all this, Selene spots a human (Scott Speedman) who seems to be caught in the middle. He gets away, everyone goes back to their home turf, and then we get all of the dialogue and exposition. Then we get more. Then Selene becomes obsessed with Michael (the human), and things start to go awry. Then there's all this stuff about new weapons and the history of the conflict, then the twists come. Then there's a half-baked attempt at giving the whole thing legitimacy by throwing in some stuff lifted from Shakespeare. In between there are pointless action sequences that are directly lifted from "The Matrix," shots that are directly lifted from "Escape From New York," and sound effects lifted from "An American Werewolf in London."

Normally, you would hear no complaints from me about theivery. When it's done well, it's great. Most art is theivery to some extent. However, in the case of "Underworld," the theivery amounts to nothing more than lack of imagination on the part of the filmmakers. There is nothing new here, and that is unforgivable. On top of that, there is no humor. Every line of dialogue is delivered with a gravity that suggests that nobody involved is aware of the sheer stupidity of it all. On top of that, the film is boring. There were few times that I did not think about leaving the screening room, and during those few times I was thinking about what I was going to do when I did finally leave. I was completely enthralled by "Blade II," so getting my attention is pretty easy. (By the way, there are plenty of things stolen from that film as well).

I truly did not expect to hate this film. I expected to love it. I expected to love it so much that I suffered four-and-a-half hours in a car and a half-hour subway ride just to see it. I tried as hard as I could to find something redeeming in this trash, and I simply couldn't. I beg of all of you reading this: do not waste money on this film. If you do, Hollywood will think it's okay to keep dumping toxic waste on us. It's not okay. Nor is "Underworld."

Michael Dziura, 2003