Written, disappointingly, by Wes Craven and his son Jonathan, this limp sequel to last year's remake of Wes' 1977 original feels like the work of a guy who's spent a few too many days lost in the desert.
For anyone other than hardcore gore-hounds, this flipbook of deliberately invoked global-unrest horrors, from friendly-fire killings to rape as a breeding weapon, is effectively mean and unrelenting -- and pretty far from fun.
You'd like to think such bankruptcy of imagination means we've seen the last of these subterranean creeps. But you know they'll be back soon to collect their royalties from the gore hounds who apparently don't care how dull [it is].
Director Martin Weisz does an adequate job of maintaining the movie's tension and momentum, but the lack of compelling characters and the unusual level of nastiness makes this an arduous mission for all involved.
Helmer Martin Weisz, whose background is largely in musicvideos, meets the challenge of creating dread in broad daylight, before the entire cast of soldiers and carnivores heads underground, into the warren of mines and tunnels where the mutants dwell.