'Underworld' sequel is drained of life

The film offers nothing new to the genre.
By ROGER MOORE
The Orlando Sentinel
For those who had an answer to the "What the devil is Ben Kingsley doing in a cruddy vampire movie?" question that "Bloodrayne" screamed out, here's another:
What the devil is the great Derek Jacobi doing in this week's cruddy vampire movie? Another of the actors we call Great Britons is wearing the blue-black leather, baring the fake fangs and chewing on the blood capsules for a lousy buck in "Underworld: Evolution."
We know why the sleek and sexy Kate Beckinsale is in it. The first "Underworld," sort of a female "Blade" about a vampire who has taken to hunting her own kind, made a boatload of bucks. And she married the director, Len Wiseman. He hasn't been able to land non-"Underworld" work, so Beckinsale donned the skin-tight pants, and even takes them off, to keep home and heart together.
But Jacobi? It's a long way from his "Oh, for a muse of fire" speech in "Henry V" to "We are oddities of nature, you and I," in "Evolution."
"Underworld" has gotten sleeker and sillier. It's devolved. "Underworld: Evolution" has that stripped-down design (everything is blue, or black, with the exception of Beckinsale's perfect pale makeup and ever-renewed lip gloss).
Family ties
Vampire movies are all about family, and "Underworld" is practically a vampire "Roots." We get history lessons, learning where the bloodlines connecting vampires and werewolves intersect. We get geography lessons. All of this takes place on the buckle of Eastern Europe's vampire belt.
And we sit through lots of gunplay, and too many of those man-becomes-werewolf transitions, something "American Werewolf in London" did 20 years ago.
This time, Beckinsale, as Celine, the "Death Dealer" (a video-game title if ever there was one), picks up with the shooting, staking or spattering of the evil Marcus (Tony Curran), having nailed his mentor (Bill Nighy of "The Constant Gardener" and "Love Actually") in the first film.
The family ties are all confusing here, so bear with me -- at least until Beckinsale bares with us. That striptease is almost worth the price of admission.
On the run
She's protecting Michael (Scott Speedman), the hybrid "lycan," or werewolf-vampire beastie. So naturally they stop, in the middle of fleeing (Marcus can fly like a bat and impale with his spider spike-legs), to have a softly lit little roll with puppy boy. Werewolves aren't always hairy.
They hook up with this mysterious tracker of wolves and vampires, Alexander (Jacobi), who runs his black helicopters from a black ship.
And they shoot, stab, kick and rip the jaws out of vampires and werewolves along the way. Because they won't stay dead, darn them.
Pretty unpleasant stuff, aside from the sex.
Yeah, there's a magical amulet thingy. There always is. There's plenty of scenes where this vamp or that lycan takes a stab at listing the family tree, which is the movie equivalent of those "So-and-so begot whoozit" verses in the Bible, and about as interesting.
One hundred minutes and $8.50 to $11 later, we're done.
There's nothing new under the sun -- or out of it -- as vampire movies go. Beckinsale, having hunted them in two "Underworld" movies and in "Van Helsing," has done the vampire thing to death. Really.
But then, so has Hollywood. Vampire movies are like vampires themselves. You can't kill them. Unless you stay out of the dark.