With a reasonable budget ($4mm, according to IMDb), atmospheric location shooting in Rumania, and an intriguing premise, The Breed should have been a gem of a vampire flick. Instead, it's a contest between screenwriters Gage and Fletcher's comic book dialogue and Bokeem Woodbine's unfathomably inept lead performance to see who can drive a stake through the heart of this mess first.
On the positive side, Adrian Paul convinces as an impressively physical vampire detective. Unfortunately, Ling Bai has zero chemistry with Woodbine, although that's probably not her fault, as nobody seems to. Disappointingly, her beauty gets buried under enough mascara to embarrass Alice Cooper.
Director Michael Oblowitz demonstrates a flair for tense shoot-outs. But each time he cranks up the suspense, it takes only a few words from the relentlessly unconvincing Woodbine to obliterate the mood and return the viewer to Square One. This becomes such a routine occurrence, one is torn between frustration and laughter.
The screenwriters' insistence on sophomoric "in" references only serves to make matters worse. A doctor named Fleming talks of James Bond and Blofeld, and other characters are named (no kidding) Lucy Westernra, Cross, Orlock, Gray, Seward, and Bathory. If that isn't enough, f-bombs drop everywhere.
Needless to say, writers are answerable to directors, directors report to producers, and actors sometimes insist on improvising. So it's hard to know who's to blame for the end result. But ultimately, as another reviewer correctly observed, The Breed can only be enjoyed for what it had the potential to be.
On the positive side, Adrian Paul convinces as an impressively physical vampire detective. Unfortunately, Ling Bai has zero chemistry with Woodbine, although that's probably not her fault, as nobody seems to. Disappointingly, her beauty gets buried under enough mascara to embarrass Alice Cooper.
Director Michael Oblowitz demonstrates a flair for tense shoot-outs. But each time he cranks up the suspense, it takes only a few words from the relentlessly unconvincing Woodbine to obliterate the mood and return the viewer to Square One. This becomes such a routine occurrence, one is torn between frustration and laughter.
The screenwriters' insistence on sophomoric "in" references only serves to make matters worse. A doctor named Fleming talks of James Bond and Blofeld, and other characters are named (no kidding) Lucy Westernra, Cross, Orlock, Gray, Seward, and Bathory. If that isn't enough, f-bombs drop everywhere.
Needless to say, writers are answerable to directors, directors report to producers, and actors sometimes insist on improvising. So it's hard to know who's to blame for the end result. But ultimately, as another reviewer correctly observed, The Breed can only be enjoyed for what it had the potential to be.