Whiteout

In 10 years, we may look back at Whiteout and call it genre-defining. I know of no other movie that more aptly embodies the category of films that should never have been made.

Whiteout centers on the-hottest-thing-to-hit-the-Antarctic-since-global-warming—U.S marshall Carrie Stetko (Kate Beckinsale)—as she investigates the death of a researcher during the final days of her stay in the South Pole. With the aid of U.N. operative Robert Pryce (Gabriel Macht), who conveniently “drops in” to the South Pole (via Floo Network? werewolf-powered dog sled? new JetBlue route?), Stetko sets out to discover the killer, uncovering a Soviet airplane and recovering from her oh-so-traumatic past in the process.

The four—count ’em, four—writers play down to the viewer dumb enough to pay for a ticket (guilty as charged), going so far as to clarify in a title screen that Antarctica is the “coldest, most isolated land mass on Earth.” Unfortunately, the writers didn’t realize that anyone in the audience that needs Antartica defined probably can’t read either.

Besides struggling more than a penguin on ice skates, the film manages to find other ways to bore the viewer. Its chase scenes literally hinge on carabiners and slow, steady walking (exciting!). Its smarmy, overly youthful and unrealistically attractive actors make arctic research centers look like college parties, complete with binge drinking, Hawaiian leis and streaking. It even shows Kate Becksinale undress in the second scene—no complaints here—but leaves us fanboys with nothing to look forward to for the remaining 96 minutes.

Blending cheesy horror and a pathetic excuse for a mystery, Whiteout snowballs into stupidity, leaving your patience stranded on thin ice.