The mother of all earthquakes rips half of California to bits; and now I’ve said that, you know all you need to know. But since I think this film is a cut above the cheesy fun it sounds (and is), I’m going to keep selling it.

What makes it so much better than the disaster movies of the ’70s is not what it has that they lacked (that would be convincing special effects); it’s what they had that this does away with.

For a start, there’s neither anyone to blame the disaster on, nor that tiresome fellow whose only role is to makes things worse. I can’t describe what a relief this is.

We’re also spared that standard ’70s plot device, the microcosm of humanity who are thrown together and must work together (one billionaire, one actress, one skipper… no, wait, that’s “Gilligan’s Island”), whom we tire of in the 45 minutes it takes to introduce them all.

That’s not to say the film is more about toppling skyscrapers than about people – on the contrary, it’s that rare disaster movie with exactly as many characters as it needs. Holding it all together (not literally – that was probably a bad metaphor) are Lawrence (Giamatti), a Caltech seismologist who predicts the coming earthquake almost in time for his prediction to be of use; and Ray, a helicopter rescue pilot who, because he’s played by Dwayne Johnson, looks like he could pick up his helicopter and carry it if he had to.