![]() It’s as if we want to test ourselves now to find out if we are truly human. The survival of our sense of humanity (empathy and fellow feeling), in the face of humanity as a group facing its end, is key to many (most?) apocalyptic stories. And their fellow survivors seem skilled (the world probably won’t need 40-something movie reviewers come the apocalypse, so it’s a good thing I can also make my own bread and would win a pub quiz about 90s guitar bands). Poor Quinn and Greedy don’t seem to have stockpiled much of any use, unless you count the world’s entire supply of Frizz-Ease which Creedy seems to have got his hands on, if those bouncy End Times curls are anything to go by. My under-the-stairs stockpile is less custard creams and baked beans and more lipgloss and toothpaste. I’ve got a solar mobile phone charger so I can tweet attractively concerned selfies, perhaps with my finger on my chin, while a dragon cruises in behind me, breathing fire and singeing the edges of my hazmat bikini. Give me a spinning newspaper with a headline proclaiming that the Queen’s corgis have been taken to Balmoral for their own safety while millions die of some excruciating virus, and I’m happy.Īnd one of my favourite apocalyptic movie-watching pastimes is wondering how I would cope, the answer being quite nicely, probably. I’ll admit I’m a big fan of end-of-the-world scenarios (although my adoration is waning slightly as these films become less like fantasy and more like documentary). It’s a perilous life, where people with practical skills are most sought after but even in this tight-knit group there is discord over the best way to maximise their chances of survival. The adult Quinn (Christian Bale), is holding out against them from a castle in Northumberland along with best buddy Creedy (Gerard Butler), some other adult survivors and lots of children. Previously responsible for the destruction of the dinosaurs, the dragons have been in hibernation ever since, lying low until the earth replenishes itself with prey, not unlike me waiting for Waitrose to restock the organic prosecco aisle after a bank holiday.įast forward to 2020 and since the monsters’ re-emergence humanity has been all but destroyed, apart from a few isolated outposts. The digging has unearthed a huge chamber, holding a sleeping dragon woken from its millennia-long slumber, it chases Quinn and his mum up the lift shaft before killing her. It’s the turn of the new century when schoolboy Quinn visits his single mother Karen, who is managing part of the Tube extension works. Luckily for we proponents of the female gaze, G-Chris still manage to look hot, and not in a burning-to-death way (well not at the beginning anyway) despite Armageddon, dressing like 1980s students in army surplus, and Butler’s early-career, authentically British teeth. Reign Of Fire has gorgeous scenery (the bits that haven’t been burnt to a cinder), a battle for the survival of humanity, dragons, and a Christian Bale/Gerard Butler bromance: G-Chris, in fact. And I’m talking a giant dragon, not some poor 16th century commuter desperate to get back to his olde hovel in Southwark. This is a cautionary tale about being careful what you wish for – in this case, an extended London Underground, where digging disturbs a creature left down there for centuries.
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