There are reviewers here on IMDb that whinge on relentlessly about this or that movie not being "original" or "nothing new". Well, as far as I know, HOSTILE is completely original at least insofar as it synthesizes a post-apocalyptic/zombie story with a hand-wringing, chest-beating love story, which is certainly something I'VE never seen before. And as original as it may be, it did nothing for me. I found this very surprising because the originality whingers certainly seem to be of the opinion that originality and "freshness" is virtually the single attribute to which all movies should aspire. And yet, here I am, all unimpressed with HOSTILE, originality and all.
HOSTILE generally appears to be two movies in one with the heroin character apparently the only shared element between the two parallel plot lines. Until the very last scene of the movie, with the single exception of the heroin, the two plot lines appear to be completely unconnected. It LOOKS as if we are simply watching our heroin's life as it is in the post-apocalyptic time as contrasted with her life in the "before time", prior to whatever happened which resulted in the apocalypse.
The movie opens with the more or less stereotypical collection of scenes depicting post-apocalyptic life for your average survivor. A bundled up character (our heroin) going about a dry and dusty, desert-y landscape, everything looking completely dilapidated and rusty and run down, trying to collect what survival resources she can find. She's armed and very careful, always on the lookout for what are apparently post-apocalyptic monsters (which are HOSTILE's version of zombies).
And then suddenly, with an abrupt scene change, we're in a metropolitan art gallery in the context of an art show where we see our same previously dusty heroin attending an art show but only for the purposes of getting out of the pouring rain outside. Within moments, the interminable flirtiness and romance with the owner of the art gallery commences, and with all the Kleenex-inducing vicissitudes of a stormy romance and blah blah blah.
And so it goes for the rest of the movie, flipping back and forth between these two disparate plot lines; a few minutes of life and death struggle between our heroin and a post-apocalyptic zombie-thing (which looks for all the world like a concentration-camp-victim with a terrible skin problem) which is apparently grimly determined to eat her, and then we jarringly swap over to some romantically angsty moments in the before time, and then meanwhile back at the apocalypse...
Certainly the pre-apocalyptic through line has all the great romantic elements for the unimaginative: the male romantic interest is wealthy, tall, darkly handsome, has an accent, and "saves" our heroin from her own self-destructive tendencies and... snore.
It's never made clear what caused the apocalypse. Toward the end of the movie there is some vaguely referenced rather small scale terrorist chemical attack which does significant damage to the art gallery owner, but there is no clear relationship established between this event and the apocalypse. At all. But I think we're supposed to make that assumption.
Only at the very last moments of the movie are the deeper connections between the pre-and-post-apocalypse made clear. Depending upon your taste I suppose SOME people may view it as very romantical, but it struck me as utter twaddle and as believable as a winged pig.
HOSTILE generally appears to be two movies in one with the heroin character apparently the only shared element between the two parallel plot lines. Until the very last scene of the movie, with the single exception of the heroin, the two plot lines appear to be completely unconnected. It LOOKS as if we are simply watching our heroin's life as it is in the post-apocalyptic time as contrasted with her life in the "before time", prior to whatever happened which resulted in the apocalypse.
The movie opens with the more or less stereotypical collection of scenes depicting post-apocalyptic life for your average survivor. A bundled up character (our heroin) going about a dry and dusty, desert-y landscape, everything looking completely dilapidated and rusty and run down, trying to collect what survival resources she can find. She's armed and very careful, always on the lookout for what are apparently post-apocalyptic monsters (which are HOSTILE's version of zombies).
And then suddenly, with an abrupt scene change, we're in a metropolitan art gallery in the context of an art show where we see our same previously dusty heroin attending an art show but only for the purposes of getting out of the pouring rain outside. Within moments, the interminable flirtiness and romance with the owner of the art gallery commences, and with all the Kleenex-inducing vicissitudes of a stormy romance and blah blah blah.
And so it goes for the rest of the movie, flipping back and forth between these two disparate plot lines; a few minutes of life and death struggle between our heroin and a post-apocalyptic zombie-thing (which looks for all the world like a concentration-camp-victim with a terrible skin problem) which is apparently grimly determined to eat her, and then we jarringly swap over to some romantically angsty moments in the before time, and then meanwhile back at the apocalypse...
Certainly the pre-apocalyptic through line has all the great romantic elements for the unimaginative: the male romantic interest is wealthy, tall, darkly handsome, has an accent, and "saves" our heroin from her own self-destructive tendencies and... snore.
It's never made clear what caused the apocalypse. Toward the end of the movie there is some vaguely referenced rather small scale terrorist chemical attack which does significant damage to the art gallery owner, but there is no clear relationship established between this event and the apocalypse. At all. But I think we're supposed to make that assumption.
Only at the very last moments of the movie are the deeper connections between the pre-and-post-apocalypse made clear. Depending upon your taste I suppose SOME people may view it as very romantical, but it struck me as utter twaddle and as believable as a winged pig.