Vanishing on 7th Street

"Vanishing on 7th Street" asks what you would do if everyone in the world suddenly disappeared without any warning. Me? I'd rummage through people's deserted houses, stroll through the streets butt-naked, start some fires, drive "borrowed" sports cars, and see a movie in a completely empty theatre. The feature of choice? Certainly not "Vanishing on 7th Street," that's for sure.

This is Brad Anderson's post-apocalyptic horror-thriller set in a world in which barely anyone is roaming around. It's not a zombie film or a deadly-disease film, nor a Will Smith vampire adaptation of a Richard Matheson novel. It is instead a scary-shadows film about shadows that are scary. And if you're scared of a shadow, well, then, you truly are a scaredy-puss.

The world has been consumed by darkness. The Sun is rising less and less as days go by. The streets are all vacant. There is no one around to hear you scream. This is following a global blackout, during which an overwhelming population of the Earth vanished without a trace. The only things left behind are their clothes and possessions. It's as if the tripods from Steven Spielberg's "War of the Worlds" have just stormed about, zapping passers-by into piles of dust. Except here there is no dust lying around.

We follow four survivors: Luke (Hayden "Darth Vader" Christensen), Paul (John Leguizamo, "The Happening"), Rosemary (Thandie Newton, "For Colored Girls") and James (14-year-old singer Jacob Latimore). They gather together in a tavern, the front of which has "Sonny's Bar" brandished in red neon, taking refuge from the invading darkness that's growing outside.

There's (annoyingly) no real explanation as to what the darkness really is -- it's one of those things the clueless audience must decide for themselves because the writer can't come up with anything. All we know is that anyone caught in the shadows disappears into thin air, and that there are moaning silhouettes wandering around, their lengthening arms reaching out at terrified humans clambering for the light.

"Vanishing on 7th Street" has an intriguing plot, one which many may say is a fresh premise for the horror genre. However, this eyebrow-raising idea is squandered in execution, the script by Anthony Jaswinski a blundering clutter, resulting in a film that's as lifeless as the post-apocalyptic world it's set in.

Moments of tension are not completely missing from the feature -- scenes of our quartet of leftovers wandering out of the safety of the light can be quite effective. Still, Anderson's picture lacks in excitement as it plods along, cutting abruptly to flashbacks, just barely able to hold attention. There are periods of thrilling entertainment, but this light quickly dims.

Our conflicting heroes aren't particularly top-notch, either. Christensen, a man usually dumped into the "wooden actor" category, doesn't do much to diminish his sour reputation. He plays a TV reporter who wakes up to find everyone he knows and loves gone from the world. He's disgruntled and selfish most of the time, refusing to give light to a terrified man banging on his car window. Well, he's a lovely main character.

Newton, the respected "Crash" actress, is, frankly, laughable in her role as a nurse who believes that her baby boy is out there somewhere, despite his clothes being found in his crib. She weeps and screams tears out of her eye sockets nearly all the way through the film, giving a performance that's aggravating more than anything else. Hand your BAFTA back, love.

Leguizamo, whose filmography is rather questionable ("Super Mario Bros.," "Land of the Dead," "Spawn"), fails to convince as a theatre projectionist who philosophises about the end-of-days event. Like that of Newton, his performance is a tad annoying, his character hi-fucking-lariously asking, "Am I in Heaven?" when opening up his eyes to see Newton's face. Eugh, stupid screenplay.

And then there's Latimore as a shotgun-wielding teenager whose mother has gone missing. His character has been looking after the tavern, fuelling the generator in the basement to keep the lights and the power working, but the diesel will run out soon. Surprisingly enough, the R&B singer’s feature film debut outshines that of his much more experienced co-stars, though that's not really saying much.

The film sporadically accomplishes spookiness, the creeping shadows serving up some scares, catering to fabulous sound design; the squeals of the darkness send a shiver up one's spine. Still, it's not enough to create a horrifying horror that curls toes and chills the air.

"Vanishing on 7th Street" has so much potential, so much to work with, but the final outcome has a lacklustre impact. It's certainly not terrible -- its light shines here and there, moments of promise occasionally popping up -- but it really should be so much better. It's very sadly closer to a nightmare on 7th Street than a miracle on 7th Street -- and I don’t mean “nightmare” as in “a bad dream.”

4/10