PROTOTYPE (1992)
Another blood capsule! Lucky you. Actually, I'm fulfilling my duty as a friend. You see, I picked out this junker to watch with a buddy of mine, and well, let's just say I feel guilty for what we had to endure. My punishment? This mini-review. Prototype is a futuristic "killer robot" ragbag that came to berth in the wake of T2: Judgment Day. There were gobs of these direct-to-video litter reels trammeling local rental showrooms (yes, showrooms...that's the choice I made), and it was glorious. It wasn't quite as glorious on a case-to-case basis. You could get stuck with real wreckage. Like Prototype! An infirm veteran (who may or may not be able to buy beer legally) volunteers for a chancy program that promises to restore his mobility. And it does, but it also turns him into a cybernetic drudge. He's all touchy-killy and shit.
How does this laundry list strike you? Uninterrupted smoking (apparently, the year 2057 isn't far removed from 1957), cumbersome editing, extrasensory sex (okay, that wasn't terrible), a prosaic pace, incestuous undertones (for fuck's sake, the boy is barely a teenager) and a psychic yoga ninja who doesn't relate to the plot in any goddamn way. Seriously, who the fuck was that prickhole? He materializes out of thin air in the final act. Ugh, fuck Prototype. It's bad. I mean, the lighting is cool, and the acting is harmless. But fuck Prototype. Happy now, Paul??? Shuffle this deck!
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