10,000 B.C.

In the terrifying canon that represents Roland Emmerich’s output, 10,000 B.C. is somewhere around the middle, neither as crowd pleasingly idiotic as Independence Day nor as eye-wateringly dreadful as 1998’s Godzilla remake. That’s not to suggest it isn’t bad. Of course it’s bad. It’s just not quite awful enough to cause you to brain yourself on the seat in front of you.
There are even – you might like to sit down for this – things to be recommended about this reimagining of the prehistoric epic. No film that features giant sabre tooth tigers and mammoth hunting can be without merit and the CGI here is virtually seamless. There are also many genuinely enjoyable anachronisms. The young mammoth hunter (Steven Strait – no, me neither) at the centre of the movie, who according to a portentous voiceover (by Omar Sharif!) is "the one who will rise" or something, sports a $500 haircut. When Middle Eastern looking gentlemen cart off his betrothed, the orthodontically perfect Camille Belle, he elects to follow. All these things happen in accordance with the prophecy of an all-powerful religion inspired by The Great Big Book Of New Age Codswallop. More pertinently they are inspired by a plotline shamelessly pilfered from Mel Gibson’s excellent Apocalypto.
Along the way our primeval protagonist invents Marxism and modern military warfare so chances are high that he and the girl will once again be dancing around a fire to the strains of what must have been a tribal remix by the Black Eyed Peas.
Such wild inaccuracies should have been the makings of the film. But 10,000 B.C. is far less fun than any film featuring enormous carnivorous birds ought to be. Camille Belle is not fit to chew the fur on Raquel Welch’s primitive kinky boots. I’m still having trouble picturing the lead despite leaving the cinema a mere five minutes ago. The dialogue invariably sounds like this – “Me ancient man. Me speak-y like this in perfect late Anglo-Saxon with occasional made-y uppy words.” All this and long uneventful stretches too.
Mr. Emmerich should have known that a bloodless Apocalypto would be no Apocalypto at all.