Underworld

The early 2000s didn’t just have a look; it had a specific, high-gloss temperature. If you walked into a cinema in 2003, you were likely greeted by a "steel blue" color grade so aggressive it made the screen feel cold to the touch. This was the era of the trench coat, the industrial metal soundtrack, and the desperate desire to make everything look as much like The Matrix as humanly possible. I watched this again recently on a Sunday afternoon while my radiator hissed like a disgruntled Lycan, and honestly, the aesthetic is so thick you could choke on it. It’s a movie that feels like it was filmed inside a very expensive refrigerator.

Shakespeare in PVC

At its heart, Underworld is a glorified music video for a band that doesn't exist, but it’s anchored by a surprisingly Shakespearean level of self-importance. We have Kate Beckinsale as Selene, a "Death Dealer" who hunts werewolves (Lycans) with the kind of icy efficiency usually reserved for tax auditors. She’s great, mostly because she manages to look cool while performing physics-defying leaps that would tear the seams of any normal pair of pants. Then there’s Michael, played by Scott Speedman (who I mostly recall from Felicity), a human doctor caught in the crossfire of a centuries-old blood feud.

The plot is a classic "Romeo and Juliet" setup, if Juliet had a pair of Berettas and Romeo occasionally turned into a giant, hairy bipedal dog. What saves the film from being a total cheese-fest is the sheer pedigree of the British acting royalty in the supporting cast. You’ve got Bill Nighy (who later charmed everyone in Love Actually) playing Viktor, an ancient vampire elder who wakes up looking like a piece of over-dried beef jerky and spends the rest of the movie radiating pure, aristocratic menace. Then there’s Michael Sheen as the Lycan leader Lucian. Long before he was playing Tony Blair or a fussy angel, Sheen was here chewing the scenery with a frantic, tragic energy that actually makes you care about the monsters.

Practical Fur vs. Digital Fangs

One thing I really appreciate about looking back at Underworld is how it straddles the line between the old ways and the new CGI-heavy world. Director Len Wiseman—who went on to direct Live Free or Die Hard—made a conscious choice to use practical suits for the Lycans. These weren't just guys in cheap masks; they were performers on mechanical stilts, and you can feel that weight on screen. When a werewolf hits a wall in this movie, it feels like a heavy animal making contact, not a weightless digital asset.

Of course, the CGI of 2003 hasn't all aged like fine wine. There are moments when the digital transitions look a bit "PlayStation 2 cinematic," but it never pulled me out of the experience. The action choreography is punchy and clear, avoiding the "shaky-cam" headache that would plague the genre just a few years later. The film is obsessed with its own lore—silver nitrate bullets, UV light grenades, and ancient bloodlines. It’s the kind of world-building that felt incredibly deep when I was younger, even if it’s stiff enough to be a high-end furniture catalog in retrospect.

The Stuff You Didn’t Notice

The production of Underworld is almost as dramatic as the film itself. Apparently, the studio behind the "World of Darkness" tabletop RPGs (like Vampire: The Masquerade) filed a massive lawsuit claiming the film ripped off their setting. It was settled out of court, but you can definitely see the DNA of those games in the "Goth-chic" secret society vibes.

Then there’s the awkward romantic geometry behind the scenes. Michael Sheen and Kate Beckinsale had actually been in a long-term relationship and had a daughter together, but they broke up during or shortly after the shoot, and Beckinsale eventually married the director, Len Wiseman. Imagine being Michael Sheen, dressed in wolf fur and covered in corn syrup, having to take direction from the guy who’s dating your ex. That’s a level of professionalism I’m not sure I possess.

Also, fun fact for the eagle-eared: the deep, booming voice of the Lycan named Raze belongs to Kevin Grevioux, who actually co-wrote the screenplay and has a background in genetic engineering. That’s not a vocal filter; that’s just how he sounds. He based the whole concept on his own experiences with prejudice, trying to ground the fantasy in something more tangible than just "monsters biting each other."

Underworld is the ultimate "rainy Saturday" movie. It’s not trying to redefine cinema or win Oscars; it’s trying to look cool in a leather jacket while an industrial remix plays in the background. While the sequels eventually spiraled into a mess of convoluted backstories, this original entry has a focused, gritty charm that remains incredibly watchable. It’s a snapshot of a very specific moment in film history where we were obsessed with the digital shadows and the myth of the leather-clad protector. If you can handle the relentless blue tint, it’s a trip back to 2003 that’s well worth the price of admission.