The world is in danger: Yuppies are inexplicably dropping dead by the score. Birds are viciously attacking the French. Guidance systems are dangerously off. The earth’s only hope? Four of the world's preeminent science professors. Now, maybe it's just me, but every single science professor I have ever met was a pale, timid man who smelled vaguely of feet. Any time you get more than three of them in a room together, you are less likely to formulate a plan for world salvation than to be overpowered by the stench of rotten Hush Puppies.

Then again, apart from the whole guidance system thing, I don’t think a bunch of dead yuppies are really something to worry about, and the French could probably stand a few vicious bird attacks, if only to keep them out of real trouble. So when the US military throws up its hands and turns the whole enterprise of "saving the world" over to the professors in THE CORE, perhaps it was just an elaborate way to thin the yuppie herd and annoy the French. If you need further proof, consider this: At no point during the film does anyone with a rank higher than colonel appear to be involved in the enterprise, even when San Francisco is being threatened with vaporization. The U.S. government is so committed to pelting the French with pigeons that it is willing to let "The City by the Bay" (as Poet Laureate Steve Perry once put it) get microwaved like a leftover burrito.

So, in spite of the $50 billion price tag, I think this is a use of my tax dollars that I could get fully behind. And if they could find a way to make sure that Ashlee Simpson or Nicole Ritchie was in San Francisco at the time of said microwaving, I would personally foot the bill.

Setting aside the whole "pelting the French with birds" theory, the official story presented is that planet's inner core has stopped rotating, which is easily the silliest thing to threaten to destroy the world since Telly Savalas played a James Bond villain. The Defense Department, which has a budget of nearly $500 billion per year, hasn't got a clue as to what's going on, and so they take the only logical next step: Start trolling community college campuses until they find someone who can make up a problem that will cost a lot of money to fix. They settle on Dr. Josh Keyes, who not only appears to have bathed recently, but also explains everything to them using a peach, aerosol hairspray and very small words. Clearly, he's not a real physics professor.

The planet, you see, is just like a peach. On the outside is a shallow skin, which is covered in fuzz and bruises easily. Just beneath this skin (or "crust") is a much deeper layer of fruit, which is made of molten lava and can reach temperatures of 3,500 degrees. The final layer is the pit, which rotates to create the peach's electromagnetic field. Prior to viewing this film, I had no idea that fruit could be so complicated or dangerous. Witnessing the professor's demonstration, the Defense Department realizes that they, too, never fully understood fruit, and immediately hand over control of the entire United States military to a man who, just hours earlier, was grading Physics 101 papers by guys named "Deuce" and "the Weasel."

With the aid of three of the world's other foremost academic produce experts, Josh formulates a plan that involves piloting a giant metallic phallus into the center of the peach/earth where they will set off a nuclear weapon or two. They bring along two pilots to drive the subterranean penis, so you know one of them is going to die, in this case the one with the least Academy Awards. As luck would have it, Hilary Swank, fresh from her triumphant portrayal of a man who turns out to be a woman who wants to be a man (not to be confused with THE CRYING GAME's Jaye Davidson, who played a man who appears to be a woman but is definitely a man, which raises all sorts of intriguing questions about which actor should be using Ban roll-on deodorant) was available to play the person who looks wistful and teary-eyed when the other, less Oscar-winning pilot kicks it.

The six -- whoops, make that five -- no, hang on... four -- of them -- wait, three -- arrive -- sheesh, two -- at the core, only to discover that their fruit analogy was woefully off-target, and they didn't bring enough nuclear weapons to stop the yuppie holocaust. Which raises two questions: First, was it really wise to go with a fruit-based theory in the first place, and second, can you ever truly have enough nuclear weapons? (The answers, for those keeping track, are no and no.)

Anyway, I won't spoil the ending by telling you who lives, who dies, and whether the Earth's peach pit starts rotating again, because I don't want to wreck the rest of the movie for you.

No, the filmmakers are quite capable of doing that themselves.

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