Out of Frame: 30 Days of Night

The movie is set 320 miles above the Arctic Circle in Barrow, Alaska, the northernmost settlement in North America.

Barrow is so far north that the sun spends most of the summer above the horizon and most of the winter below it. Since modern vampires are required to avoid daylight, least they be incinerated, these 30 sun-less days mean that visiting vampires can pull the rip cord and party like it's 1499 for a solid month. (Fun fact: Bram Stoker never mentions anything about Count Dracula being susceptible to daylight--nor does any vampire folklore. While vampires have always been active at night, the idea that sunlight would be harmful to them never was part of the equation before the film Nosferatu).

To contain their food supply, the undead interlopers knock out the phone and Internet connections to the town's residents and even slaughter all the sled dogs (there goes Barrow's chances for an Iditarod win this year). For some nonsensical reason, darkness also means that the planes can no longer fly in and out of Barrow (even though the coldest and worst weather in Barrow comes before and after the dark spell, not during). So with 200 miles of ice separating them from another living soul, the helpless residents are, in short, screwed. Basically, they become the vampire equivalent of an Old Country Buffet.

The Steve Niles graphic novel, on which the film is based, is a perfect demonstration of the potential of graphic novels. The book is sparse, letting the unsettling imagery do a lot of the storytelling. The premise and storyline are crisp, neat, and clever. If the artwork weren't so dark and gory, it could easily be described as beautiful. You would think that such a book would lend itself well to a film adaptation. You would be wrong.

The main problem with the film isn't what the filmmakers took or left from the graphic novel, but all the lameness they decided to layer on top of the original story. Too many characters that we don't have time to empathize with; too much redundant dialog that tries to fill in all the gaping plot holes. None of it was necessary and all of it weighs the film down. The filmmakers are so obvious in their attempts to copy the cinematography and vibe of its zombie brethren, 28 Days Later, that it borders on desperate ridiculousness. Rather than come off as menacing, 30 Days of Night's zombie-like vampires stumble around in a blood-drunk stupor, hissing and screaming with all the resulting terror one would expect from a rabid Hello Kitty with a bad case of mange. The filmmakers should take a lesson from the lipstick-wearing pig named Monique: style isn't enough to capture essence.

All great horror films tease out showing the monster. What separates the men from the boys is if the monster can retain its scariness once it comes into view. About 40 minutes into 30 Days of Night, we see the vampires in the clear for the first time. Afterwards, the tension that gives the movie a strong start is gone. All that's left afterwards is an escalating menagerie of gore. In a literal flash, the vampires have reduced the winter population of 147 to about 10 survivors, who ham-fist their way from obvious hiding place to obvious hiding place and somehow manage to escape the carnage that has befallen their friends and neighbors.

Will you jump in your seat during this movie? Sure. But then again, you'd do that when Phil from Accounts Payable sneaks up behind you to tickle your armpits. That's creepy and frightening, but it certainly isn't fun. Phil doesn't deserve your $9.50, and neither does 30 Days of Night.

Eric Nuzum will be signing copies of The Dead Travel Fast at Olsson's in Crystal City on Oct. 29 at 5 p.m. and he'll also take part in a special Halloween night reading of the book at Politics and Prose, 7 p.m. 30 Days of Night is playing at the Regal Gallery Place Stadium 14 and Phoenix Theatres Union Station