Reign of Fire, the new sci-fi action thriller set in post-apocalyptic England, is not so much a reign over an empire, as over a small fiefdom or a large village. And it is not so much a good movie, as it is a failure. Therefore, I propose to rename the movie Fiefdom of Fire. At least then, one would not -- going into a movie that professes to show a world overrun by dragons -- expect to see more than the three or four they actually show. But instead of beating a dead horse, I will display its utter horrendousness in a likewise, horrendous poem. Think of it as creative empathy
"Ode to Fiefdom of Fire"
(A.K.A. Reign of Dire Failure)
[While reading, please envision a single tear drop falling on eight dollars of cash money.]
Oh what embittered muse causes such woe,
Inspires a decent idea, but without the dough.
Shoots the hills of Ireland as the plains of Norfolk
And he answers, "So?"
Well, this movie I would not wish upon my worst foe.
Unfortunately for me,
I did go see,
Reign of Fire (tee hee hee hee)
She laughs mockingly...
There was Mad Max, but Waterworld
Terminator, but Tank Girl
Of both good and poor quality
Making one's head whirl.
I wish I could rejoice another's addition
But nay, I lay crestfallen and beaten,
For today, I have seen Satan.
His wry smirk and his pinched budget,
Caused a movie that did not cut it,
Even if judged by a libotomized schizophrenics standards,
This film would have received no kind words.
So you ask, why a poem to display such ire,
Well, let us not waste a word of prose on such a funeral pire,
For I, unlike director Rob Bowman, am inspired.
Why not bad poetry for this putrid mire?
It is thus that I damn Reign of Fire,
Let us cry, "Reign of dire failure,
Better suited for the piles of rubbish and manure,
Than our screens of celluloid silver"
