Before “Halo,” “Quake” or even “Duke Nukem,” “Doom” rose as a pioneer in the video game industry. Even more, it started a whole new style of play – the first-person shooter. It brought the grisly fantasy of every gamer to life: Run, shoot and kill anything and everything that crosses your path with an arsenal of weaponry that would make Saddam Hussein giddy as a school girl.

It is surprising that it actually took this long for some techie to decide it would be a fantastic idea to put this carnal dream to paper, and eventually, film.

What isn’t surprising, however, is “Doom’s” addition to the legacy of films based on video games that had potential to be great but weren’t.

Once again, ex-wrestler (theatrical stuntman) The Rock graces the screen with his trademarked eyebrows, as he plays a futuristic marine who takes no crap from anyone, even his close friends. Somewhere deep within the arid crust of Mars lies a research facility that has been run amok with genetically mutated human beings (thanks to “Resident Evil” for the fabulous idea). Now, it is Mr. Mineral’s job to lead his men through its conveniently shadowed confines to put a stop to the meat grinder the lab has become. The team soon finds out this extraterrestrial, bra-less society is being terrorized by something that can only be taken out by their big flippin’ guns.

When the sister of The Rock’s right-hand man comes into the picture with her theories that not everyone being executed might be “infected,” a real wrench is thrown into the gears of the Marine machine.

You’d think after the invention of the wheel, telephone and computers, some twisted makeup artist out there would come up with a creature that doesn’t look like a 7-foot-tall man covered in Styrofoam, but no.

Sorry, but the sight of something resembling a skinned Chewbacca wasn’t all that frightening. In fact, the scriptwriter’s decision to throw in a couple of gimmicky lines almost made it seem like they didn’t want us to be afraid. Perhaps they should’ve had a disclaimer at the beginning: “Now children, don’t worry, the big scary men aren’t really hurting that disemboweled fellow—-; it’s what we call ‘acting.'”

Despite all of these letdowns, the comforting familiarity of The Rock’s contorted forehead is always soothing. His overacting and constipated intimidation is only icing on our comfort cake.

Let’s be honest, we all knew this movie was going to suck – plain and simple. The only unexpected letdown for viewers – and the original creators of “Doom” – is the lack of really outlandish gore, which is what we were all coming for anyway.

Oh well, there’s not much to do right now, other than hope someone decides to adapt “Bare Naked Volleyball” to film.