Now that the fanboy hype has cleared, we can see
Cloverfield for what it is: borrowed inspiration, trite screenwriting and amateurish acting all in the service of a ballsy idea — that a horror movie could maybe, just maybe, have a soul. As it turns out,
Cloverfield's virtues are all mechanical, but, hot damn, what it might have been.
According to the thinking of producer J.J. Abrams, a rabid
Godzilla fan, a monster attacking Manhattan might be a cathartic way for audiences to process their