In the end, it comes down to starving against time or being hit over the head by some assailant. That is it for those in Last Sentinel anyway, a reflection of the futility in life and in isolation. Still there are major differences between being cast out and abandoned at sea on a miniature, secluded outpost and struggling to find selfish reasons for continuing on in a flat which benefits from a spiral staircase. We never had it so good. Kate Bosworth and her gang of supporting performers never had it so rough, as Tanel Toom’s direction shows. Striking poster work which reminisces of a time when disastrous surroundings were all it took to sell a feature, Last Sentinel lifts from the poster of The Day After Tomorrow and parks itself up against The Mist.
Environmental warnings are told not through sharp story writing but in a bland text opening which shows Waterworld will happen and quicken the fight for resources. For that reason, cupboards below this desk, under the floors where this keyboard sits, are lined with tins of chicken stock and AAA batteries. Never surrender resources, Last Sentinel warns. To give up supplies is to give up life, but to give up life means not having to watch the droning, whining tones of a lighthouse running out of illumination. Last Sentinel has that somewhat as it fishes away in Robson Green fishing weather horrors. Dystopian and humming away as though some H.P. Lovecraft lite monster is about to burrow its way into a supporting character are always skittering around the edges of this environmental awareness pop.
Desperations found in survival also see futile measures come through as random acts which would mean something in the pre-flooded world shine through. Positions of power are played, symbolism is identified, not built up and then thrown away in place of character development. Where Last Sentinel shines is in its atmosphere, in the brooding dark and the haunted expectations of piercing silence exploding into blood and mutilation. Last Sentinel at least removes itself from the potential of being compared to Among Us, that is, it does until the penny drops. It does so somewhere around the fourth explanation of routine, meeting, and disassociated argument. Such is life and the cycle continues. Scorch the earth, save the planet and get out of sitting around on a traitor-clad ship.
But what is the need for traitors when everyone is in it together and there is no ulterior motive? Files are scattered throughout the ship and as everyone begins to make sense of their place in the emptiness of giant pools, Last Sentinel loses sight of what it could have been. Fair play, the density of the ocean and the idea nothing lurks beneath but our own fear is a useful tool to play with but Last Sentinel and the characters within are lifeless. The only fear is a spark of flavour to them. Bosworth and company are of no real interest and nor is there futility in a search for survival. When it is just for the sake of it, it is hard to figure out much love for those abandoned by themselves and others. Foggy seas are of no real horror when everyone on board is insane yet useless.
