Countdown

This unfortunate failed attempt by Brad Armstrong for another of his big-deal "blockbusters" starts off like a porn parody of the work of mainstream director Roland Emmerich, of "Independence Day" and "The Day After Tomorrow" fame. But thanks to a truly awful screenplay (uncredited as has become the custom for Brad's Wicked releases) it is stillborn, maudlin, self-pitying and boring rather than action-packed or suspenseful.

At a time when his peers in the Adult industry have generally given up the ghost concerning the creation of interesting story-driven feature films, Brad opts to try and impress a jaded public with what he considers acting opportunities for his porn-performer cast, plus the ubiquitous NonSex thespian Frank Bukkwyd. By the time Bukkwyd, as an uppity bartender, delivers a long monologue at the grave of his departed wife, one assumes Brad has lost all sense of what his audience wants.

So we have a countdown of less than a week until mankind will be obliterated by the deep impact (yes, that old sci-fi movie is lurking somewhere in the script's gestation) of a huge asteroid hurtlng inexorably toward Earth. Brad balances the government types and scientists scrambling to try and avert the cataclysm, with the very Emmerich-y salt of the Earth types in major roles, and both sets of characters are saddled with cliched dialog and ridiculously blase attitudes.

So we don't get the expected mission to save the day - no Bruce Willis to the rescue. And we don't get any action scenes whatsoever -no rioting, no looting, no anarchic mayhem, no nothing. It seems that humanity takes its imminent demise in stride, glumly expressing regrets for opportunities wasted and the cinematic equivalent of a dying animal retreating into the corner to expire.

Hardly the stuff of an exciting film, leaving us with seven standard XXX sex scenes to pass the time. Silliest is saved for last, when Brad himself pops up as a brooding alcoholic intent on going off the wagon due to the asteroid's approach, while bartender Bukkywd tries to dissuade him. Enter out of nowhere India Summer, who Brad instantly romances with the aid of magic tricks and a jukebox (!!), for some old-fashioned humping after Bukkwyd heads literally for the cemetery.

Stuck in major roles, none of which should go on their resumes, are Jessica Drake as lead scientist who accidentally discovered the wayward asteroid's trajectory; Rocco Reed as her unsympathetic colleague (and of course sexual partner at crunch time), and in a NonSex nod to Obama, Tyler Nixon as the selfless and endlessly glum POTUS. He should have been cast as a parody of Kissinger, that's how hangdog is his expression throughout.

The four folksy leads are brother Derrick Pierce and Xander Corvus, who get to bed down respectively with Wicked contract ladies Alektra Blue and Kaylani Lei. Far better is my favorite, deep-tanned Lezley Zen (misspelled Lesley in the credits) as a diner waitress who takes pity on busboy Rocco Reed and services him, supposedly robbing him of his virginity (yeah, right). It's that kind of a script.

After nearly three hours of bad road, the film concludes with a thud, determined not to present anything interesting or even slightly diverting right through the bitter end.