If you thought youd seen the last of DMXs movie career in 2003s textspeak-peddling Cradle 2 The Grave, then all I can say is you all need to start crossing your fingers MUCH harder, because in brainless underworld yarn Never Die Alone the gravel-throated rap-piece is back. And hes worse than ever.
In this fist-bitingly bad trip into the yawning chasms of Crapsville, hip-hops least-convincing thesp plays King David, a big-money drug-dealer who somehow manages to narrate a story from inside his own coffin (dont worry rubbish movie fans, Im not giving anything away as early on as the very first shot its revealed that our main character is all set to snuff it).
When he gets stabbed for telling another bloke that he looks like hes going on a camping holiday, King Dave is rushed to hospital by permanently confused-looking passer-by Paul (David Arquette). Touched by the actions of this good-but-dim Samaritan, Dave decides on his death-bead to leave all of his worldly goods to Paul including his car, his money, and of course his bling. Handily, this veritable Hall of Plenty also includes the dictaphone into which old Kingy has been recording all of his not-very-insightful thoughts (stuff like The Lord takes care of fools and babies, and Ive never been either one what, not even when you were a baby?). So Paul uses it to write a bio-piece for the local paper, and as youd pretty much expect gets dragged into Daves world in the process.
Set in a seedy criminal hot-bed populated by perma-swearing nogoodniks, Never Die Alone truly is an awful film. Based on the novel by Donald Goines and directed by Bulletproof helmsman Ernest Dickerson, its a piece of work obsessed with proliferating the glorification of American gangland stereotypes. Even disregarding the fact that I couldnt find gangsta culture any duller if it actually took the form of dishwater, I can find little to commend about a film as predictable, clichéd, witless and heavy-handed as this one.