Ultraidiotic

Noel Vera

Kurt Wimmer's "Ultraviolet" (you keep wanting to insert an 'n' in
the title) is about as stripped-down, no-nonsense as it gets, which
should be impressive--a minimalist aesthetic in a futuristic action
flick--only he forgot to include anything worthwhile in the little
that's left.

The movie (would be silly to dignify this picture by calling it
a 'film') opens with a long expository sequence explaining that in
the future, a virus will break out that will turn people
into "hemophages," or some form of vampire; that human civilization
will teeter on the brink of collapse, until it reins in the disease
by ruthlessly cracking down on the sick (can we shout "AIDS
allegory" in a really loud voice?); that Violet was a pregnant woman
who loses her baby, turns hemophage (giving her all kinds of
vampiric superpowers), and has since worked ruthlessly to bring that
same government down as Ultraviolet.

The eponymous heroine (played by Milla Jovovich) goes through a
series of elaborate checkpoints to pick up a package, a curvaceous
white briefcase that looks like the next generation Apple laptop on
steroids; the real courier turns up, the alarm is raised, and all
heck breaks loose--Vi, as she's often called, pulls out blades and
automatic weaponry and proceeds to wreak havoc. The damage she
inflicts, however, is strangely unbloody, a quick spurt here and
there, a bone-cracking blow where no bone is exposed or twisted limb
seen (which makes sense, I suppose--the audience this movie is
geared for would have trouble trying to enter an "R" rated pic).

Turns out the briefcase contains not papers, not microchips or any
such mundane stuff but a boy--literally a boy, floating in what
looks like the world's smallest hot tub (this future is
into "dimension compressing," where interiors can be larger than
exteriors (the filmmakers, apparently, have watched a few episodes
of "Dr. Who") and an assassin can pull swords and other nifty
equipment literally out of thin air instead of lugging around those
bulky duffel bags). The government, represented by a grinning
corporate executive / doctor / reverend type with nose clips (Nick
Chinlund) wants the boy, ostensibly because the boy's blood has this
antigen that can kill the dreaded hemophages, including Vi; the
hemophages want the boy because--well, why wouldn't they? He can not
only wipe them out, he's adorably cute, with plump cheeks and a
pleasing smile; naturally, he's got to go.

Only problem is, Vi's maternal instincts have been stirred; having
lost a child she can't bear to lose another, however vicariously. So
Vi goes all "Gloria" on them and like Gena Rowlands in John
Cassavetes' vastly superior thriller (though to be honest it doesn't
take much to be vastly superior to this picture) she takes the child
under her wing, and runs.

That's the movie in a nutshell; the rest of the picture is bang,
bang, bang, reload, bang, bang, bang, repeat. The action sequences
are shot in that vertiginous style so popular with music video
directors nowadays and cut together using a Cuisinart; if the
sequences start seeming repetitive, that's because they are--the
only thing more varied in the endless scenes of Vi mowing down
hundreds of clay pigeons are her hair and outfits, which change
according to mood for all I know (they definitely don't change
according to any innate dramatic need). The ending is of slight
interest for hardcore anime fans--apparently the filmmakers not only
watch "Dr. Who" but also follow "Rurouni Kenshin," what with its
outlandish swordfights and flaming blades--but of little interest to
everyone else (other than being the cue to look for your coat and
the nearest exit).

Milla Jovovich plays Violet with casual conviction and (far as I can
tell in these digitally enhanced times) physical eloquence, better
than any actress I can think of today; she's a veteran of course,
having been an alarmingly limber alien in "The Fifth Element," a
warrior maiden in "The Messenger," a butt-kicking vixen in
both "Resident Evil" films. Nice to think she does these kinds of
films to keep fit and earn her daily bread, then on the side turns
in good work in films like Richard Linklater's "Dazed and Confused,"
Spike Lee's "He Got Game," Wim Wender's "Million Dollar Hotel," and
Michael Winterbottom's "The Claim." There's much more to her than
supple limbs and a ferocious glare; you only wish you can see
that "more" in this flick.

Director Kurt Wimmer gained a cult reputation with his
earlier "Equilibrium;" from the evidence on hand, you wonder why--
he's directed what is essentially an 88-minute video game, with the
same monotonous backgrounds and the same fuzzily rendered digital
effects (the cityscapes in particular look as if Wimmer ran out of
money and gigabytes halfway through), using the same point-of-view
shots that make the same silly attempt to immerse you in the action,
video-game style (you got something similar in the equally brain-
dead "Doom"). I could say something about how a good film on
videogames might be possible, one full of ideas that at the same
time critiques the very idea of videogaming (which actually has
already been done--Lav Diaz's underrated and unnoticed "Hesus
Rebolusyonaryo" (Jesus the Revolutionary, 2002)) but why bother? I
will note, however, that this is apparently a chopped-down version,
with thirty minutes removed, and that a director's cut is threatened
for the DVD release. Thirty more minutes of this crap--I'm sure
we're all looking forward to the prospect.

(First published in Businessworld, 3/24/06)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)