Oh, the humanity . . . .  I have seen many a bad, bad film in my day but rarely am I unable to revisit the feature in order to examine exactly where the filmmakers went wrong.  However, this is one such film which even I cannot force myself to return.  Thus, heed what follows, otherwise I cannot in any way be held accountable for any misery which is incurred as a consequence of having watched Alexander Witt’s Resident Evil Apocalypse.

   I’ll attempt to make this review as succinct as possible in hopes of avoiding the transmission of even a smidgeon of the torture that is Resident Evil Apocalypse, a film created by a man who spent his life hereto as a second-unit director, who unwisely took the reigns of a film which not only blatantly ignores its precursor but, after a twenty-year cinematic regression, contains its lead crashing through the stained-glass windows of a church on a motorcycle, followed by a flock of topless zombie prostitutes, thus negating any semblance of value contained in the presentation of a government cover-up of corporate crime. 

   Whew.  And on that note, anyone unfortunate enough to have viewed this film who is interested in forming a lynch mob for Alexander Witt in order to rectify your cruel and unusual pain and suffering need only contact me through my editor because I seriously doubt if there are enough mental cosmetics to cover up the psychological scars which this film has caused.  

   Your Loving--Albeit Now-Permanently Handicapped--Film Critic,

 -Egregious Gurnow

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