Uwe Boll's Masterpiece--Alone in the Dark (2005)

Every generation brings with it its cinematic artists who etch their names into the pantheon of creators. Among these undeniably comes Uwe Boll—for many surely know him above the rest of the directors that Deutschland has to offer. What can the likes of Murnau and Herzog offer next to him? There are those who call his repertoire unwatchable stacks of weevil-covered garbage that competes with itself to insult your intelligence—but the truth is that those blinded by the intricacy of such masterworks like House of the Dead or Blubberella cannot see it for what it is. So shall I demonstrate with his beloved classic from 2005, Alone in the Dark. 

Some will point out that this is based on a videogame, with movies drawing such inspiration usually turning out haphazardly at best. To which I say that surely there can be no reproach to the likes of Dwayne Johnson’s Doom or all two…three…er…possibly four screen reboots of Resident Evil. And in any case, Boll here took a truly daring approach by having his film largely have nothing to do with the original video game anyway—for he knew he could truly transcend source material as many other creators did. 

Even without words, he speaks so much to us all.

More evidence of Boll’s genius continues with the opening scroll of the film, voiced by the man himself—now, many discuss the merits of showing rather than telling. Boll here actually chooses both, but even more interestingly, he does so in a manner that leaves the viewer baffled anyway, as he intones on and on about ancient civilizations that are connected somehow to paranormal bureaus. So drawn in was I by the skilful hypnotic lethargy that I forgot what this had to do with anything. Thus are we actually told absolutely nothing, while he shows us that one cannot take the written word at face value in this deep and dark world woven here. 

Anyhoo, our ostensible main character is played by Christian Slater, as a ‘paranormal investigator’ who I can therefore assume makes most of his living screaming at creaking floorboards on very stupid cable shows. He spends a lot of time rambling about how we should actually be afraid of the dark, for Boll knows well that one must always repeat the imperative word in the film’s title or the audience will forget. Soon, Slater is attacked by a person that looks like a younger Walter White, in a chase scene where absolutely everyone prioritises smashing through windows instead of opening doors. Truly Boll understands that not only are doors evil, but just so boring next to randomly defenestrating anything in sight. 

He also understands that the laws of physics and biology are naught but annoying impediments to a true classic story, hence why Slater can backflip from lying flat on the ground, and why a hook kills this spontaneous assassin after he shrugs off bullets. Was it not Oscar Wilde who, on matters of consistency, immortally uttered ‘pffft whatever dude’? 

With yet more prescience, Christian Slater invents e-cigarettes about a decade early.

After this, we are sucked further into a web of dark and intricate imperative intrigue that somehow connects a handful of people wandering off in the middle of the night, to some more people opening a box on a fishing trawler that causes some sort of electromagnetic voodoo the government detects. The fact that I realized that I had no clue what was going on or how any such script elements related to one another only demonstrates that my brain is insufficiently evolved to comprehend the mastery here, and thus I thank this work of art for helping me comprehend the true level of my existence. 

You might have this exact expression on the whole film. But that's on you.

More amazing is the direction and mise-en-scene. Soon Slater ends up with former girlfriend Tara Reid at a museum, encountering a creature that only the uncultured would pilfered from HR Giger’s wastepaper basket. Lesser directors may experiment fruitlessly with camera angles and soundtrack to build tension and unease, but Boll knows that simple is best, and thus has the lights flicker repeatedly for about five minutes straight while our heroes leisurely wonder around. Truly I was amazed as to why more people don’t just think of that. 

The romantic chemistry between Slater and Reid is even more mind-blowing. Eventually the two just decide to make love with only the barest notions of what they truly see in each other, and more incredibly, this is all set to the song ‘7 Seconds’ by Youssou N’Dour, which gormless audiences might laugh hysterically at, but the truth is that this is a very personal touch by Boll. I can divine that 7 seconds is about the time he himself might last in coitus. 

Note the absolute nothing behind whatever this supposed to be. 

Nevertheless, we soon learn that the plot involves a possible outbreak of aforementioned creatures, for reasons and means that are mere afterthoughts compared to the exquisite action scenes. I know uncomprehending types who might describe these action scenes as ‘seizure-inducing barrages of murky CGI and actors firing random fake guns like they’re drunken dads at an arcade’. But the truth is, this is Boll’s remarkable way of highlighting that you need only the vaguest impressions to create true cinematic action, aided only by the finest and screechiest of 2000s-era nu-metal. Is there any better combination?

Eventually, Slater, Reid, and Slater’s former boss at the government who hates him for some reason end up in a mine after dozens of random soldiers get slaughtered, where we discover that ancient civilizations leave signs just to be extremely unhelpful to people, and where seemingly dead corpses can lift up their heads as if they think the camera’s out of shot. Both are really expert commentaries on the strength of the human spirit, as is the final scene involving a struggle over a door to another dimension that literally looks like the door to a shopping mall. The multiple levels of commentary here are beyond my ability to parse. We end on an old man rambling about his extremely vague evil plans, and a CG explosion, while I bask knowing that Boll’s talents to weave this all together while leaving me oblivious to any kind of point is all on me. 

And so we end on a scene involving a deserted city, introducing yet another plot point in the last few seconds to never get resolved—thus proving my point exactly. Every aspect of Alone in the Dark is the work of not just a cinematic genius, but truly, a god. Is it any wonder that Boll was so confident in his abilities that he literally promised to beat up his critics in boxing matches? 

Boll would eventually go on to move on from films to managing restaurants once he seemingly couldn’t be bothered to finance his own projects any further, but the truth is he was already providing the food of the gods through his projects. Supposedly he is in fact returning to moviemaking more recently, and cinema buffs worldwide couldn’t be happier. Many would be so glad to have their brains be left in blissful incomprehension once again. 

But seriously, it’s…pretty much on the same level as all the Resident Evil sequels.