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What Is a Movie Critic's Job in the Summer of Comic Books?
By Alan Scherstuhl and Stephanie Zacharek
Reitman used to make movies that reveled in the rambunctious; Evolution is merely stale, sterile and, worst of all, safe. It's a hodgepodge of undercooked notions and overused plots -- a greatest-hits, made up entirely of misses. How is one supposed to feel good about watching a movie that reduces Julianne Moore, as an epidemiologist working for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, to a sight gag? Every time she enters a room or gets out of a car, she trips and falls on her face; she might as well not be in the film at all. And pity Orlando Jones, who spends one scene lying on his stomach on a gurney, having an alien insect extracted from his colon with a pair of medieval forceps. It's rather appropriate, actually: The whole films looks to have been pulled out of someone's ass.
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