You know who I love? I love anyone who hated this movie because I would like to fight them to the death for being wrong as balls. Fuckouttahere. I wanna be on the 2012 thrill park ride, playing 2012 on my Nintendo DS, eating the 2012-branded chocotaco and watching this movie at the same time because I am greedy for this brand of INCREDIBLEBANANASINCREDIBLE. Everyone who says otherwise may as well have written their reviews on their faces in marker because they are obviously batshit crazy and should be ignored. Seriously, will somebody tell me what people expected other than 158 minutes of apocalypse BUKKAKE? Roland Emmerich knows how to destroy himself some world and sure it isn’t so much a story but a sprayfest of rapid-fire money shots but what else would it be? And what else would make it THIS AWESOME? It’s like the movie has ultra-oxygenated blood and sleeps upside down in a hyperbaric chamber and eats tiger penis like it’s its job because it has psycho endurance that feels GREAT in your brain.
And I’m NOT sorry that I find it spectacularly satisfying to watch all these teeny tiny career-having, property-owning, H1N1 vaccine sucking-up CGI strangers EAT IT with the backdrop of a steaming, fetid Los Angeles getting fucked sideways by buildings and malls all angry-style and every single shit-eating, soul-killing highway being lobbed like al dente spaghetti against the fridge door of the OCEAN. You get to see that expensive-ass Hawaii MELT and Rio swallows itself with the dignity of someone being eaten by his own asshole AND Vegas gets it because over-tanned mongoloids in ugly clothes are flammable. This movie’s great. It’s like how aggressive people like crunchy snacks times a MILLION.
John Cusack is in it. So is Oliver Platt. And Amanda Peet. And Thandie Newton and also Chiwetel Ejiofor and Woody Harrelson and ZERO causal explanations as to why the Earth’s core is spazzing the fuck out other than the mega convenient Deus ex Mexican title but OH MY PSHAW WHO CARES. Well, other than that Cusack doesn’t suck like that strokeface Nic Cage and and it’s cool cause he moonlights as a chauffeur and gets to be dressed like he’s in Gross Pointe Blank basically the whole time. Also, his name is Jackson Curtis which makes me laugh and laugh thinking how rad it would’ve been if it were not opposite day but inversion day and 50 Cent was playing himself as the lead. The only gripe I do have is with that the Internet straight-up does not exist in 2012 because seriously they just Photoshopped it out of the picture and that’s some horseshit because the Twitter feed would’ve been HILARIOUS (#drowninghurts).
I mean, obviously 2012 has nothing to do with the Mayan apocalypse or the perseverance of what makes us human or the shifting of tectonic plates or what we’ll be called when we’re Pangea for whatever tessellation of blue and green comes next, but it does make you think about how you’d want to go if you had only had a couple of hours to live because unceremonious death is a major theme in the real-life version of 2009. I am pretty sure I will be wearing a full-length chinchilla furside-in, munching on fistfuls of MDMA, eating chips, and just trying to live long enough to not have to talk to my parents or anyone who knows me but still get to see and howl at enough mind-blowing violence to FEEL THE RAPTURE.
Watch the movie. It’s good for morale. It’s seriously as close as you’ll get to whatever David Carradine went looking for. Even though I’d have preferred if EVERYONE DIED because it’s way funnier and because honestly, what’s more anticlimactic than living?
Mary Choi was promoted to the position of The Awl’s Chief Film Critic while she was writing this post.