Even with the estimable Dame Judi Dench as commentator, it is difficult to know what is going on in this over-produced, under-characterised sciencefiction epic.
We just about gather, as the universe collapses in a heap of conflicting planets, that Vin Diesel is Riddick, a hunted fugitive summoned to save the remaining goodies from the massed ranks of baddies. These Necromongers are offering survivors the simple choice: become one of them or die.
Riddick at first wants only to save himself but, eyeing up Alexa Davalos's Kyra, he decides to protect her, too, though she seems as good at killing as he is. He knew her before, though not in the Biblical sense since, what with all his stunts, he can't have had the energy. But I couldn't gather much else.
Indeed, I grew so confused by who was doing what to whom that I took to praying for another appearance from Dame Judi, just to clear things up. Looking like a refugee from the Harrods sale, dressed in a half-price shroud, she does her darndest to aid us.
The Chronicles, which goes on for ages, doesn't seem much concerned with telling a coherent tale, preferring to present a dark and putrescent universe where anything might happen at any time, except perhaps for a line or two of sensible dialogue. Which leaves Thandie Newton, Karl Urban, Linus Roache and Colm Feore with very little to do but scowl before inevitable death.
It looks like a video game played by a mad director. But I'm sure writer-director David Twohy isn't mad. Just unable to stop himself overegging the pudding.
The Chronicles Of Riddick
Cert: cert15
