Cloverfield

Grade: B

I've been avoiding Cloverfield since it came out last month because the media kept harping on the fact that the hand-held camerawork induced motion sickness in many viewers. Then I remembered that I never get motion sickness, and several friends recommended the movie to me so I ducked into the mall multiplex today to catch a matinee. For the first twenty minutes a bunch of dipshit twentysomething Manhattanites hang out at a party, and the dialogue is so vapid that this would-be frightfest seems destined to invent a new genre: the bore-or movie.

Fortunately director Matt Reeves and screenwriter Drew Goddard get their tits in gear and Cloverfield starts generating some good scares and some truly chaotic apocalyptic vibes. The plot is equal parts Godzilla, Blair Witch and Alien, showing young New Yorkers desperately clinging to their cell phones and video cameras as they make futile attempts to escape from a gigantic monster who wrecks buildings and the smaller alien vermin that attack humans.

After the initial beast-inspired adrenaline rush Cloverfield fizzles out for awhile, but finished strong with a final showdown in Central Park.