San Andreas

At one point in San Andreas, in which the largest earthquake in recorded history slices and shakes its way through California, Dwayne Johnson parachutes into the middle of a San Francisco baseball stadium with his estranged wife (Carla Gugino) clinging to his bulging midsection. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve been to second base,’ he says as they land safely on the field, sharing a chuckle after an afternoon spent watching several thousand people be swallowed into the earth. The disaster movie is back.

‘San Andreas’ is a bloodless and boneheaded orgy of computer-generated destruction. The story, such as it is, centres around Ray (Johnson), a buff angel sent from heaven to save helpless women who are trapped by, in or under heavy things. A former army pilot who now flies LA’s rescue helicopter, Ray is in the cockpit of his chopper when he sees a highway implode beneath him. His first task is to rescue his wife downtown, then he off to retrieve their student daughter (Alexandra Daddario).

Campy but never campy enough, the film is far too numbingly artificial to ever drum up any real suspense or sense of awe. Despite having the destructive powers of God at his disposal, director Petyon fails to conjure a single compelling set piece. Instead, his movie’s appeal is limited to whatever charm Johnson can muster from thin air and the genius of seismologist Paul Giamatti, who gets to look in the camera and say ominous things like ‘People need to know that the shaking is not over.’ Sadly, you won’t feel a thing.