For decades, Cecil B. DeMille was Hollywood’s go-to megalomaniac when
it came to big, simplistic, spectacular devastation, with side-orders
of religion and/or patriotism. In the 1970s, Irwin Allen became Master
of Disaster, and ships sank, buildings burned, volcanoes blew, cities
fell and killer bees swarmed. Now, Roland Emmerich
presides over the carnival of destruction, commanding huge budgets,
wilfully ignoring scientific advisors to keep the plot boiling (for
future reference, sudden continental drift probably will affect your
cell-phone reception — but not in this film) and cracking a whip over
slave-like hordes of computer-programmers piling up the pixels which
render the unbelievable photo-realistic.
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