I wanna be in a disaster.

I mean, those people have an ADVENTURE. They get to roll around in the muck, fight the evils of nature or whatever, and bond with total babes.

Sylvester Stallone must have thought along the same lines when he signed on to make Daylight, arguably one of his best performances since Rocky or First Blood. The movie is your basic disaster flick, except this time, instead of in a high rise or on a flipped-over cruise ship, it's in a commuter tunnel between Manhattan and New Jersey, and Sly gets to run around in ever-increasing danger, trying to save a bunch of whiny, idiotic buttheads, and a dog.

Why is it always a dog?

Why not a monkey? Or a cat? Or a lemming? That'd be cool.

"You have to save Herbie my pet Lemming! He'll drown."

"Don't worry Lady, Lemmings can handle themselves in water!"

"No! He's watched all these other people drown, he's just gonna copy them and go under! He's so susceptible to peer pressure!"

Anyway.

Daylight is the story of a huge explosion in the middle of the tunnel which destroys most of the commuter tunnel, and traps about 10-12 survivors in the middle, cut off from everyone and everything. Then, just to make things interesting, Stallone drops in to say hi and try to get everyone out.

You know in the very beginning who our heroic survivors are going to be, because the movie opens with a bunch of nothing scenes intent of telegraphing who these people are. Everyone has a back story, and we, the audience who just came here to see Sly battle the forces of the tunnel, are supposed to watch, learn, and care about them.

Let 'em die.

I mean, who cares who these people are? They're the fodder, the bait for getting Sly to jump through the hurdles. They're cattle.

And are treated as such, to the movie's credit.

See, all good disaster flicks need follow a certain pattern.

1) Disaster strikes a bunch of innocents.

2) About 10-15 survivors fight their way to freedom.

3) About 8-10 make it out.

Which means the film has got to be able to kill off some good guys. And it does. Woo-hoo!!! It's the only way to make it remotely believable. I mean, the huge set of circumstances which conspire to create our explosion and subsequent forced-hibernation are rather ludicrous to start with, so it's good that the movie allowed itself to kill a few peasants. I mean, this is Hollywood. They're expendable.

If only they didn't go out so melodramatically.

But forget all that. What this movie is ultimately about is the really cool stunts and special effects. And they're pretty cool. I mean aside from the obvious idiocy of the people in charge (the "city") and the tremendous coincidence that Sly, who just happened to have been fired as the city's Chief Emergency Rescue Dude last year, is driving a cab in front of the tunnel when the explosion takes place, it's about watching the bruised, battered and beaten Sly take a mean pounding and survive one set-back after another.

And that's a lot of fun to watch.

By the way, I have no idea what Stallone's character was named. I think it was Kit, or Kid, or something. But that's the kind of movie it is. It's not important. I mean do you know what Earnest Borgnine's character was named in the Poseidon Adventure? I doubt it. (But if you do, then let me know and you could win bonus points!)

So in all, we have ourselves a rather satisfying disaster pic, definitely a first date kind of movie, if you're in to that sort of thing. As a movie in general, it's not the best. It dragged at points, the acting is cardboard, the script a little sappy and so on. But it was a lot of fun.

And I for one am always taking the bridge from now on.

Until they make a bridge disaster movie.

I'm give Daylight 3 1/7 Babylons. It could have had more, but it they had too many "cute takes" to the dog. And that is inexcusable.

The Self-Made Critic has spoken.

Editor's Note:

I am so ashamed. Last week, in an attempt to be funny, I used my little section of the great Self-Made Critic's review of Mars Attacks! to utter the simple phrase "c-flat."

I have shamed my family for generations to come. See, as my mother the music teacher would tell you, there is no such thing as c-flat. That would be B. So I humbly apologize for my ignorance, my a thousand walnuts be shoved obtrusively up my bum.

Thank you.