San Andreas

Ray's world is collapsing. You could say it's falling apart. Oh, not all aspects of his life are terribly dark. After all, he flies a helicopter for work-and his job as a rescue pilot means he never runs out of stories for a dinner party. His biceps boast the girth of a Sequoia. His shaved head shines pleasantly in the rays of the Southern California sun. But the brilliance coming from Ray hides his pain. The family tragedy has shaken him greatly, and he still feels its consequences. His wife, Emma, has filed for divorce and is moving in with a new rich handsome man. He worries that his daughter, a college student, is inexorably drawn into the orbit of this grasping guy. And when you're worried about losing all the people you've ever cared about to some ratty real estate mogul-even the biggest biceps can't be a consolation. Perhaps the earth itself feels Ray's pain. Perhaps when the San Andreas fault starts to wiggle its fingers in the ground, it's just the planet's way of putting its arm around the Rock and saying, "Here, here. I'm here with you." Alas, the Earth's sympathetic tremors are seriously complicating the lives of millions of Californians, who are now forced to dodge free-falling buildings and jump over giant cracks in the ground just to water their lame lawns. Soon, the bottom two-thirds of the state will look like the scenery for a Hollywood disaster movie.