our billion years ago, claims Armageddon in its glossy computer-animated opening, a powerful civilization scoured the universe, searching hopefully for other intelligent creatures. Finding none, it decided to make its own, and so it dumped the seeds of life wherever they might be likely to take root. Earth was one such fertile garden. Apart from a few annoying problems--the dinosaurs' extinction after a "cosmic mishap," an unpleasant nuclear war between Atlantis and Mu--life on Earth evolved fairly well.
Unfortunately for humanity, however, life elsewhere in the universe did even better. One race of sapient reptiles, having never suffered Earth's setbacks, has gotten ahead in the arms race. Goaded on by the mad supercomputer that sowed their race, the reptiles mop up most of humanity (coincidentally sparing Korea, where Armageddon was made) and are poised to finish off the rest of the species.
Humankind's only chance for survival is a 20th century schoolboy with hidden powers, secretly the avatar of Earth's own supercomputer/founder. This so-called "Delta Boy" must be rescued from alien assassins, pulled far into the future (oddly enough, since in his time there's a lot more of humanity around to save), taught to use his energy powers and aimed at Earth's enemies.
Dar-win some, Dar-lose some
No simple plot summary could do justice to this grab bag of American SF moments and semi-Japanese sensibilities, thrown together haphazardly and shaken, not stirred. If this is an anime clone, it's missing a few key DNA strands.
For one thing, the animation is inconsistent and off-model. The Korean animators range in technique from complex chiaroscuro to one-dimensional images reminiscent of old G.I. Joe cartoons. Those images are often familiar--savvy SF fans will recognize stolen moments from Star Wars, Akira, and Jaws, among others, while Delta Boy himself looks like he stepped from the classic Fist of the North Star, and his pink-haired paramours look like generic anime amalgams.
Not that anyone evolves past the generic. There's no time--the characters go through crises like Darth Vader goes through fleet commanders. In one busy segment worthy of a Next Generation episode wrapup, the protagonists evade a monstrous robot assassin, dive through time, blast through an unexpected wormhole effect, run across a conveniently-placed Death Star surrogate, and relive the last half hour of Star Wars--all in just under two minutes. It's just too offhand to be exciting.
Even the occasional stab at emotion falls flat, as a character's death is commemorated with a mawkish music video, featuring every brief, incoherent image of her throughout the rest of the film, strung back to back in front of a sentimental serenade. The result--choppy, abrupt and just a bit unsettling--sums up Armageddon's whole tone in a nutshell.
