God, this movie was horrible!
Consider three ominous premonitions with which to conclude that you're in for a particularly lousy alien invasion flick, in that the extraterrestrials in question 1) have adopted English as their own language, 2) visually resemble humans in every manner save for a few isolated patches of superficial make-up, and 3) have allocated their own race with such an innocuously cheesy title as "The CouCou" (Evidently, somebody in the writing staff is more than a little "cuckoo", in this endeavor.)
The premise of the film borrows heavily from the early eighties miniseries "V", in that aliens are actively in the process of harvesting a limited quantity of humans as necessary food supplies. On this occasion, the global spectrum of worldwide government's have conceded to a pact, in which 8 million pre-selected specimens are to be redistributed to the invaders in exchange for avoiding the alternative, that of earth's outright destruction. However, the aliens themselves had apparently left some critical gadgets behind in their 1947 mishap at Roswell. Now, scientist Stephen Chase (Brad Johnson) has enlisted the help of the elusive Dr. Baker (by the way, who the hell ever heard of a Baker with an Eastern-European accent?) for the sake of using the contraptions against them. As astronomical coincidence would have it, the unique DNA-structure of Daddy's little girl (portrayed by Erin Ross) beholds the genetic formula, whereby the extraterrestrials can stave off the spread of a ravaging plague.
Clearly, the plot has effectively relegated the potential of this flick to nothing further than the seen-it-done-it-before variety, and the woefully inept screenplay doesn't help.
Accordingly, the limited imagination of the screenwriters has left little more for Ross to do, other than expound through clenched teeth her endless list of grievances about life and limb as the malevolent E.T.'s proceed to operate on her.
After a temporary jailbreak, the equally-obnoxious Alex finds time to console her with a gist of fatherly advice, "You just gotta keep going', keep going'." (write that down, boys and girls).
When not groan-inducing in its content, the moronic script lends itself to occasional bouts of inadvertent humor.
For example, one particular instance which left me rolling on the floor transpires as Johnson barrels forth toward a low-hovering alien craft as one of the more reluctant fellow resistance members hollers, "You're going the wrong way!!"
Beyond the two-hours worth of cheesy dialogue are the poorly directed battle sequences, in which the combatants on both sides proceed to crouch in spatial areas to blindly exchange gunfire and laser blasts back and forth. You would think that if any of these idiots were actually interested in prolonging their own lifespan, somebody might actually contemplate the prospect of utilizing available cover.
As if the style wasn't bad enough, the structure of the plot itself contains a sufficient number of holes with which to infinitely supply a doughnut factory.
For instance, consider the film's feeble attempt to concoct a "compelling twist" to its barely sustainable storyline. As it turns out, the human-alien pact in question had been erected under the doctrine of a predisposed double-cross. Thus, soon after harvesting their eight millionth specimen, the aliens proceed upon a global rampage, thereby rounding up every last homosapian they can find. Needless to say, this begs the question, why bother to form the pact in the first place?
Clearly, the aforementioned shortcomings merely represent the tip of the scale in the film's ongoing list of flaws. But the above alone is more than sufficient cause with which to give any reasonable viewer incentive to stand clear of this moronic rehash of the alien invasion formula.
Consider three ominous premonitions with which to conclude that you're in for a particularly lousy alien invasion flick, in that the extraterrestrials in question 1) have adopted English as their own language, 2) visually resemble humans in every manner save for a few isolated patches of superficial make-up, and 3) have allocated their own race with such an innocuously cheesy title as "The CouCou" (Evidently, somebody in the writing staff is more than a little "cuckoo", in this endeavor.)
The premise of the film borrows heavily from the early eighties miniseries "V", in that aliens are actively in the process of harvesting a limited quantity of humans as necessary food supplies. On this occasion, the global spectrum of worldwide government's have conceded to a pact, in which 8 million pre-selected specimens are to be redistributed to the invaders in exchange for avoiding the alternative, that of earth's outright destruction. However, the aliens themselves had apparently left some critical gadgets behind in their 1947 mishap at Roswell. Now, scientist Stephen Chase (Brad Johnson) has enlisted the help of the elusive Dr. Baker (by the way, who the hell ever heard of a Baker with an Eastern-European accent?) for the sake of using the contraptions against them. As astronomical coincidence would have it, the unique DNA-structure of Daddy's little girl (portrayed by Erin Ross) beholds the genetic formula, whereby the extraterrestrials can stave off the spread of a ravaging plague.
Clearly, the plot has effectively relegated the potential of this flick to nothing further than the seen-it-done-it-before variety, and the woefully inept screenplay doesn't help.
Accordingly, the limited imagination of the screenwriters has left little more for Ross to do, other than expound through clenched teeth her endless list of grievances about life and limb as the malevolent E.T.'s proceed to operate on her.
After a temporary jailbreak, the equally-obnoxious Alex finds time to console her with a gist of fatherly advice, "You just gotta keep going', keep going'." (write that down, boys and girls).
When not groan-inducing in its content, the moronic script lends itself to occasional bouts of inadvertent humor.
For example, one particular instance which left me rolling on the floor transpires as Johnson barrels forth toward a low-hovering alien craft as one of the more reluctant fellow resistance members hollers, "You're going the wrong way!!"
Beyond the two-hours worth of cheesy dialogue are the poorly directed battle sequences, in which the combatants on both sides proceed to crouch in spatial areas to blindly exchange gunfire and laser blasts back and forth. You would think that if any of these idiots were actually interested in prolonging their own lifespan, somebody might actually contemplate the prospect of utilizing available cover.
As if the style wasn't bad enough, the structure of the plot itself contains a sufficient number of holes with which to infinitely supply a doughnut factory.
For instance, consider the film's feeble attempt to concoct a "compelling twist" to its barely sustainable storyline. As it turns out, the human-alien pact in question had been erected under the doctrine of a predisposed double-cross. Thus, soon after harvesting their eight millionth specimen, the aliens proceed upon a global rampage, thereby rounding up every last homosapian they can find. Needless to say, this begs the question, why bother to form the pact in the first place?
Clearly, the aforementioned shortcomings merely represent the tip of the scale in the film's ongoing list of flaws. But the above alone is more than sufficient cause with which to give any reasonable viewer incentive to stand clear of this moronic rehash of the alien invasion formula.