Last night Jordy and I went to see 30 Days of Night, the vampire flick set in Barrow, Alaska. I was enthusiastic about the film after reading about it on Larry Correia's Monster Hunter blog.
The film is appropriately dark and atmospheric at the beginning, which fits both the real-life weather and helps to set the emotional tone. The crisis begins building, but stalls. The survivors seem unable to make the logical connections to combat what they are facing, and while these vamps are undeniably unloveable, unlike the sleek Eurotrash that often people other vampire films, they have the most annoying and pointless habit of vocalizing for no damn reason.
I stared at the one gay vampire about halfway through the movie as he prowls through a house in which Sheriff Eben Oleson and wife Stella are hiding.
"Mwrowr", he growled. "Mwrowr."
Shut the hell up I whispered through clenched teeth.
It could have been a good movie. It wasn't. Fortunately, Larry is a much better writer than movie reviewer. Buy his book, in which the vampires never pointlessly screech or growl.