ShadowDance

Not so long ago in the distant and alien land of Montana, a young and severely untalented writer took it upon himself to craft the most cliché’ and uninspired fantasy novel ever written. He succeeded splendidly. The book was horrendous, as sterile and insipid as literature comes. But the masses, blinded by stupidity, ate it up and the novel sold millions upon millions of copies. A short few years later, the rights to the novel were purchased for a very large sum of money and it was adapted into a terrible, terrible film.

It was entitled “Eragon.”

“Eragon” is indeed a steaming pile of dragon crap, but I cannot stress enough the terrible ineptitude of the source text. The author, Christopher Paolini, was only 19 when the novel was published – and my dear Lord, how it shows. You see, it’s not that Paolini is an inherently terrible writer, it’s that he’s essentially utilized a tired old story arc in the most bland fashion imaginable. The book is truly awful … literally some of the worst fantasy writing my eyes have ever beheld.

And this film adaptation, which opened last year to a lukewarm box-office and hostile critic response, doesn’t fair much better. In fact, it’s infinitely worse (which I honestly didn’t believe was possible). The plot may sound familiar to most of you.

Taken in by his uncle at a young age, the tirelessly whiney pretty boy named Eragon (portrayed just terribly here by Edward Speleers) spends his days on the farm wishing for something more. It comes in the form of a dragon egg, which is somehow transported to him through magic … or something stupid like that. Anyway, the egg hatches and the last of the dragons is born. A grizzled old hermit named Brom (Jeremy Irons … what’s he doing in this trash?) takes it upon himself to train the boy, teaching him in the ancient ways of the dragon riders, a sect of guardians which were long ago exterminated by one of their own. Eragon and Brom meet up with a rogue-type character (for clarification, we’ll call him Han Solo) and they set out to rescue a captured princess from the enemy’s impenetrable fortress.

Can anyone tell me what this sounds like? Class, pay attention. Can anyone tell me what this plot is an exact carbon copy of? If you guessed “Star Wars,” you’re correct. Good job, here’s a cookie.

I could write a more original plot in twenty minutes with my eyelids stapled shut, my hands chopped off and “Def Leppard” blasting directly into my eardrums. Give me a bran muffin, some coffee and a solid forty-five minutes and I could crap a better screenplay directly on paper.

Honestly though, I don’t understand the appeal of this horrendous book series, or of the film. Kids go crazy for this garbage. Do they not realize it’s the most epic rip-off of all freaking time? It’s like putting “The Godfather” in space, with Don Vito immigrating from Mars. It’s like dumping “Jaws” in the pioneer days, with a giant bear instead of a shark (hey, that sounds like a winner – get my agent on the line). It’s the same damn plot, with dragons. I mean, holy Christ, they even have the mentor killed off. As Brom died, I could almost hear Luke Skywalker, a hundred galaxies away, screaming, “No!” The only thing “Eragon” needed was Chewbacca, and I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if the party met up with a large hairy creature. Man, in the second book, does Eragon come to find that the evil leader is really his father? Honestly, does he? I’m curious. It’s just ridiculous enough for me not to doubt it.

Again, it’s “Star Wars.” With dragons.

And you’d think, “Oh, well dragons are cool. Star Wars + dragons = awesome, right?”

No, wrong! WRONG, WRONG, WRONG! The dragon stuff isn’t even that cool! The special effects are terribly executed, the final “epic” battle lasts all of six minutes and the dragon looks like a damn pigeon with horns. It’s the most ridiculous pile of lies, deceit and utter, unmistakable crap I’ve ever had the displeasure of sitting through. It’s not so bad it’s good, it’s so bad it’s freaking terrible. It’s the kind of film that makes my stomach hurt, the kind that stirs in me a hatred unbeknownst to many.

There.

I feel much better, thank you.