The Final Destination

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There will come a time in the not-too-distant future when the appeal of 3D will fade, when the time-honoured values of story, dialogue and character will once again be prized above giant pointy objects zooming perilously into the delighted faces of a screaming audience. But until that day arrives there’s absolutely no reason not to enjoy The Final Destination [the fourth in the series], a film which doesn’t just pride itself on the spikiest, shiniest collection of audience-intimidating implements yet seen (nails, knives, scissors, screwdrivers) but adds a whole host of hitherto unimagined threats from flaming cars, rogue ceiling fans and even a killer car wash.

The plot is familiar from previous instalments in the Final Destination series: forgettable well-sculpted do-gooder receives visions of impending disaster (in this case a nasty Nascar pileup) and hustles his chums out of danger. This causes the non-corporeal spirit of random death to become mightily peeved and come gunning for each of them in a variety of inventive and increasingly budget-taxing ways.

There’s not a great deal to defend in The Final Destination: the characters are flimsy and interchangeable, the actors portraying them bland and inoffensive. The script serves as merely a framework for a repetitive series of shock deaths, each of which is clearly signposted well in advance. But that’s half the fun: giggling as the shadow of a loaded crane looms menacingly overhead or a bottle of slippery hair oil tips silently across a well-polished floor. Some of the more gratuitously nasty scenes do leave a sour taste. But overall this is harmless, inventive fun, a rollercoaster ride on the 3D bandwagon, before the wheels fall off.

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