Film Review - THE MUMMY

Universal’s The Mummy is a dried out, moldy husk of creative bankruptcy that symbolizes the very worst in modern blockbuster moviemaking. Lazily pilfering the graves of the studio’s famous horror icons in a sweat-stained attempt to conjure up a quickie shared mega-franchise in the Marvel template, the film offers zero artistry or ambition. Instead it’s aggravatingly smug in its self-satisfaction, a feature-length Dark Universe series prologue that dimly assumes audiences will hunger for more after being fed two hours of filler. This isn’t so much putting the cart before the horse as it is strapping the bewildered animal to a teetering pile of wood, metal and nails.   

The studio has been eager to relaunch its famous monsters line for a long time. However, it appears the box-office failures of 2004’s Van Helsing (Bad!), 2010’s The Wolfman (Good!) and 2014’s Dracula Untold (Bad!) have left them baffled as to how to proceed. The original classic films, which ran from 1930 to 1956, weren’t exactly high octane fare. Rather, they were strange creature showcases, heavy on ominous German Expressionist atmosphere and dread, that allowed some of the industry’s most stylish off-beat visionaries – such as Tod Browning (Dracula), James Whale (the first two Frankensteins, Invisible Man) and Karl Freund (The Mummy) - to work their eerie magic. The devil with source material fidelity though, moody horror rarely yields boffo franchise dollars anymore! Superheroes on the other hand...

Thus, this iteration of The Mummy isn’t interested in being a spooky blast, or crafting colorful characters, so much as ham-fistedly foreshadowing future Avengers-esque crossovers. Similar to 2016 debacles Independence Day: Resurgence and Warcraft, what we have here is a textbook case of Phantom Sequel Syndrome, wherein payoff is almost entirely dependent on follow-ups which may or may not ever happen. It’s a terrible approach to producing entertainment and buries this otherwise wholly mediocre genre clunker under an unnecessary ton of embarrassing baggage. It inspires wistful nostalgia for Brendan Fraser’s bombastic adventures among the undead.

If one were feeling charitable, credit is at least due to this Mummy for trying something new in attempting a female take on the archetypal antagonist. Named Ahmanet (the invaluable Sofia Boutella), she’s a vengeful Egyptian princess with designs on reawakening Set, the god of death (note: in actuality the god of desert, storms and violence, but whatever), who will help her conquer the land. Exhumed in Iraq by opportunistic treasure hunter/U.S. military man Nick Morton (Tom Cruise, doing what he can to enliven Underworld-grade material), she hitches a ride to London with designs on recovering the lost piece of a ceremonial dagger long buried beneath the city in a Crusader Knight’s grave. While Nick and his archaeologist love interest Jenny (Annabelle Wallis) fight to stay one step ahead of their vengeful soul-sucking enemy, the mysterious Dr. Henry Jekyll (Russell Crowe, in hammy Man with the Iron Fists check-cashing mode) lurks behind the curtain with a grander game in mind.

It is peculiar how needlessly convoluted and confusing The Mummy is given the fact the general premise is ridiculously simple. Cobbled together by six credited writers, including director/producer Alex Kurtzman and heavy-hitters David Koepp (Jurassic Park) and Christopher McQuarrie (Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation), the picture screams ‘committee-made.’ Showing little faith for the intelligence of its viewers, the screenplay shoehorns in constant creaky exposition – often repeating information learned mere moments ago – and, in both Jekyll and Jack Johnston’s comic sidekick, establishes two different spokesmen to tirelessly spew it. The dopey narrative technique proves futile, though, as the film never nails down its increasingly stupid mythology, or provides coherence to the dreary procession of awkward action sequences and plot beats inelegantly smashed together in the editing room. Perhaps the raging sandstorm of nonsense would be less tedious with engaging heroes and villains to latch onto. Alas, they’re all generic types whose alleged personalities are spoken of but never glimpsed.   

Alex Kurtzman was a disastrous choice to oversee this ramshackle product. A Hollywood mega-producer, and writer of tent-poles both fantastic (Star Trek, Mission: Impossible III) and execrable (Transformers 1 & 2, Amazing Spider-Man 2), he arrives with only one directorial effort under his belt in the completely forgotten 2012 dramedy People Like Us. For a franchise steeped in a rich history of fantastic uncanny imagery he’s a barely competent journeyman lacking the required panache to deliver effective scares or satisfying action. There’s nary a single shot in The Mummy that lingers in the imagination (it frequently looks inexplicably cheap), and even the much-ballyhooed zero-G plane crash scene only leaves you pondering how much cooler it might have been with a skilled eye behind the camera. Although it’s tempting to cut Kurtzman the helmer some slack and assume his work was compromised by relentless corporate interests, it’s impossible to neglect the sad truth that Kurtzman the producer was essential in forging this shaky blueprint, and already bungled the same crass business strategy with the second Andrew Garfield Spidey flick.

How many times must Hollywood learn that an audience’s loyalty isn’t won on vague promises of future rewards alone? By sloppily serving the interests of too many masters, The Mummy fails on every conceivable level. It’s not fun, rousing or creepy, and easily the weakest and most unappealing variation on the ancient formula to date. Yes, even more so than Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. It’s undeniably pathetic the first chapter of the Dark Universe franchise can’t even make a convincing argument against tossing the boring old book back on the shelf.

1out of 5

Film Review - WONDER WOMAN

The last 15-plus years must have felt like a cruel joke for die-hard Wonder Woman fans. Since X-Men and Spider-Man launched the superhero craze, a steady parade of male icons have headlined their own showcase vehicles as comic-dom’s definitive heroine sat dormant, ignored in favor of low wattage players like Ant-Man, Hellboy and Jonah Hex. Victim to the dumb belief audiences weren’t interested in female-fronted adaptations – thanks to reasonable public indifference to low-rent crapfests Catwoman and Elektra - the Amazonian crusader finally arrived last year with a brief-but-buzzworthy turn in the dire Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Given the DC Extended Universe’s lousy track record though, the potential for a good solo movie seemed highly dubious.

Let it be said firstly that Diana Prince’s first cinematic spotlight adventure, directed by celebrated Monster helmer Patty Jenkins, winningly honors the icon herself, who first exploded from the pages of 1941’s All Star Comics #8, even if the picture as a whole doesn’t deliver the desired punch. It’s a frustrating effort that gets so much right it becomes extra aggravating when it makes the same unfortunate stumbles - albeit to a less crippling degree - DC Films’ previous efforts have made. For a character brimming with confidence and bold individuality, why, oh why, couldn’t her movie follow suit?

Similar to 2013’s Man of Steel, Wonder Woman also dazzles from the get-go with an astonishingly well-crafted opening section depicting our lead’s origins in a grand far away land. Instead of a Kryptonian spacey prog-rock utopia, in this case it’s the lush and beautiful mystical island of Themyscira, created and hidden from mankind by Zeus, inhabited by Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen) and her legion of fierce Amazonians. Growing up in the protective shadow of her cautious mother, Princess Diana (Gal Gadot, with younger versions played by Lilly Aspell and Emily Carey) yearns to pursue the warrior heritage she sees embodied by her fearsome aunt Antiope (Robin Wright). And, after at last receiving permission, she trains grueling year after year in order to earn her rightful place alongside her fellow protectors.

As fate would have it, the island’s serene bubble is soon burst when a plane carrying WWI spy Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) inadvertently tears through its portal, luring German troops into paradise. Sympathetic to her American visitor’s haunted accounts of mankind’s suffering, Diana pledges to accompany him to home wherein she will vanquish the banished god of war Ares, who she holds responsible for the brutal conflict. Revolted by the limitations placed on women in early 20th century London society, she accompanies her new ally and his ragtag team into the grim, muddy hell of battle. There, she quickly begins providing hope for the hopeless, even while nefarious fiends Ludendorff (Danny Huston) and Dr. Maru (Elena Anaya) plot to thwart the impending ceasefire with weapons of unimaginably ghastly power.

Whereas MoS, BvS and Suicide Squad inexplicably went out of their way to completely bungle the company’s most beloved heroes and villains, Wonder Woman warrants major kudos for being the first of the studio’s efforts to completely understand the psychology, iconography and moral compass of its main character. No doubt helmer Jenkins - working with a screenplay by Allan Heinberg, a former writer/producer on The O.C., Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal - played a key role in this achievement given her history of crafting grounded character studies. Although Diana faces similar challenges in translation as many of her fellow brand-mates, being essentially an invincible God lacking the messy and relatable quirks of Marvel’s creations, the film finds compelling methods of opening up her through her commitment to decency. While she can undeniably kick ass with the very best of them, without ever falling victim to action figure tedium, it’s the unwavering focus on her deep compassion, unflagging optimism and refusal to back down that draws us in. In the otherwise weirdly aggressive DCEU she’s the first truly inspirational protagonist to emerge.

All involved were extremely fortunate to find Wonder Woman’s ideal conduit in Gal Gadot, one of those perfect-in-every-way casting coups akin to Thor’s Chris Hemsworth or original Superman Christopher Reeve. Exuding benevolence, and boasting impressive physicality, solid comedic timing and an ability to sell both the crowd-pleasing and quietly intimate moments, the actress can frankly have the role as long as she wants it. Her Diana plays nicely off of established charisma-bomb Pine – whose Trevor is nicely layered and hyper-capable – and succeeds in finding the emotional truth in scenes that occasionally veer into cornball territory. Nailing ace material is impressive; however her ability to make even the script’s clumsier bits work on a character level is an even more profound testament to her skills.

Were this an auteur-driven superhero epic like those produced before the Marvel Studios model was born, such as Nolan’s Bat-films or Raimi’s Spider-Mans, Wonder Woman might have been as incredible as its star. Jenkins’ fascination with exploring the deeper themes of the character is commendable, and a sad rarity in franchise moviemaking. Alas, she must also serve the grand DCEU game plan, which means there’s only so much room for outside-the-box thinking. And part of the problem is the unnecessarily self-serious tone established by the preceding franchise entries, which runs awkwardly headlong into the picture’s high-spirited attitude and beaming hopefulness.

There’s a lightness of touch missing to these films that holds them back from ever truly soaring. You can feel it gradually overtake this movie bit by bit until the whole endeavor capsizes into a messy and tedious third act display of monologuing villain nonsense, ugly CG bedlam (after a thrilling early beach skirmish the action noticeably degrades into spastic choppiness throughout the runtime) and Captain America: First Avenger-ish payoffs. It’s curious why the studio is so determined to suck the fun and joy out of their work, when those elements have been so crucial in winning over generations of readers.

It really doesn’t help that Wonder Woman offers up some of the most uninspired antagonists in recent memory. Simply put, they bring next to nothing, and play an almost entirely insignificant role in Diana’s story, which seems like the sort of thing that should have been remedied before shooting. At least Dr. Maru strikes an impressive visual, with her deformed face covered by a makeshift cosmetic appliance echoing Boardwalk Empire’s Richard Harrow, yet she’s the epitome of disposable outside of a solid scene with Pine. As for the big bad, let’s just say he’s somehow less impressive than BvS’s big lame-o Doomsday, which is a not an admirable feat.

Because of the obvious passion and fantastic contributions from Jenkins, Gadot and Pine you can’t help but root for the movie to work (especially when our heroine’s killer theme music kicks in), even in spite of its forgettable (non-Themyscira) supporting characters, hacky bookends and often sagging energy. Perhaps the greatest takeaway from Wonder Woman is witnessing her worthy ascension to the top of the DCEU hero pack, which at least leaves us encouraged that next time around Diana may get the triumphant picture she truly deserves. Because there’s little question the silver screen needs her right now.

2.5 out of 5

Film Review - PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES and ALIEN: COVENANT

Last summer Hollywood learned a costly lesson about the dangers of investing in unwanted blockbuster sequels. With massively-hyped follow-ups like Alice through the Looking Glass, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows and Independence Day: Resurgence imploding at the box office it became painfully evident that in an era of constant franchising there’s nothing special about returning to the familiar anymore. Especially if the predecessor wasn’t loved.

That lesson continues this season – it typically takes studios two-to-three years to course correct – with the release of fifth (!) and sixth (!!) entries in the once mighty Pirates of the Caribbean and Alien series. And in both cases these sequels come with the burden of having to erase the sting of disappointing previous instalments (2011’s nigh unwatchable On Stranger Tides and 2012’s muddled Prometheus, respectively) by attempting to rekindle the creative fire that sparked their beloved original launches. Although neither totally reinvigorates their brand, or offers an abundance of new or innovative ideas, one film nonetheless comes pretty darn close, while the other flounders.

When we last left Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp), at the end of On Stranger Tides, he had defeated the nefarious Blackbeard, lost the Black Pearl to a shrinking spell and pretty much totally bored audiences into submission. Thus, many of that film’s hanging plot threads – such as Penelope Cruz – were jettisoned in favor of this loose reboot, Dead Men Tell No Tales, which introduces Henry Turner (bland Brenton Thwaites), teenage son of Pirates power players Will (Orlando Bloom) and Elizabeth (Keira Knightley), and sends him on a quest to free his cursed pop from Davy Jones’ curse (see movie #3). This fateful mission draws in Jack, a now prosperous Barbosa (Geoffrey Rush) and Carina (bright spot Kaya Scodelario), a rebellious young woman of science who holds a cryptic map to Neptune’s trident, which could forever end evil magic on the high seas. Of course, in order to capture the mystical weapon, they have to contend with Javier Bardem’s ghostly Captain Salazar, an ooze-drooling fiend with a fiery hate-on for our iconic lead character.

Though it’s a dubious accomplishment, Dead Man Tell No Tales is a marked improvement over On Stranger Tides, which – bafflingly massive international business aside – left the franchise beached and lifeless like the Kraken in At World’s End. Piloted by Norwegian directors Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg, who showed great promise in their debut, 2012’s Oscar-nominated real life adventure tale Kon-Tiki, this Pirates again emphasizes colorful showpieces (such as a great guillotine sequence and a zombie shark attack) and character banter over plot. Working from Jeff Nathanson’s screenplay, the duo is unable, like Gore Verbinski and Rob Marshall before them, to wrangle the absurdly over-complicated mythology into a coherent yarn. With two major McGuffins (the trident and Jack’s magical compass), and one minor (Carina’s map) in constant play, there’s no compelling focus, and pointless additions like Golshifteh Farahani’s exposition witch – who really should have been reconfigured into a major character – only muddies the already murky narrative waters.

Alas, it's also relentlessly obvious we’re essentially watching the fourth remake of Curse of the Black Pearl. All the elements are the same, including a stuffy British Naval adversary (David Wenham) and subplot involving parentage, albeit with a little more jazziness and vigor than last time. It’s a bit head-scratching, frankly, why the rinse-and-repeat formula has been so rigorously embraced. If ever there was a potential heir to the Indiana Jones episodic adventure throne, Pirates should have been it. But now? The whole enterprise feels soggy, from Depp’s one-joke protagonist – who lacks the necessary dimension that fellow character-actor-in-quirky-superstar-mode Tony Stark has in spades – to the recycled character types (Bardem at least deserves credit for a suitably loathsome bad guy turn, cartoonish motivation be damned!) and needlessly complex over-reliance on random incident over disciplined storytelling. Dead Men Tell No Tales isn’t offensive or painful by any stretch; it just shows total ambivalence towards setting sail for newfangled creative horizons the way the first chapter did back in 2003. Yargh.

Hey! Speaking of ridiculously convoluted mythology, remember Prometheus? The weirdly confused prequel that almost instantly killed all interest in Ridley Scott’s return to the universe he (chest) birthed in 1979? Well, the acclaimed helmer is back with Alien: Covenant, an intentionally scaled down xenomorph-happy follow-up that doesn’t reach the heights of the original, or James Cameron’s unstoppable Aliens, yet surprisingly flourishes under the weight of low expectations and financial constraints.

Transpiring a handful of years after the gruesome loss of the Prometheus vessel, Scott’s third series entry opens with the crew of the colony ship Covenant experiencing a tragic loss during a long expedition to their prospective home. Upon discovering an alternative planet that appears to support life, acting captain Oram (Billy Crudup) orders an investigation of the world’s resources and environmental conditions. As so typically goes, though, the unit’s exploratory trek is abruptly interrupted by an infectious agent that proves a mite deadly. Before long chaos reigns and it's clear the vast majority of the unlucky visitors, including second-in-command Daniels (Katherine Waterston), pilot Tennessee (Danny McBride) and android assistant Walter (Michael Fassbender, far and away the movie’s MVP), will have truncated lifespans. When it seems the situation couldn’t get any stranger, out the darkness emerges David (Fassbender 2.0), the abandoned AI last seen one movie ago as a decapitated head, with dark secrets to divulge.

While visibly a product of artistic backpedaling, intended to better service the wants of fans, there’s a tightness, simplicity and tension to Alien: Covenant that genuinely works. It’s undeniably less ambitious than Prometheus, but it’s also more engaging, answering its predecessor’s complex questions with greater interest than one would have ever hoped. Curiously, in fact, it is this further world building, and revelations involving David and Walter, that prove infinitely more rewarding – it is very odd the director isn’t overseeing the second Blade Runner given his obsession with AI here - than the usual H.R. Geiger creature stuff, which Scott seems only half-heartedly interested in. Despite introducing new breeds of nightmare fodder, there’s not a whole lot of variety in their modus operandi, and the director struggles to find memorable ways to stage their bloody attacks, outside of a truly gripping extended sequence in a medical bay.

Whether this experiment has been worth the investment still remains up for debate, if slightly less now. The film, like Prometheus, also stubbornly refuses to establish a sufficient bridge to Alien, however, due to the brilliantly twisted collaboration between Scott and Fassbender, and frequent bursts of sinister imagination peppered throughout, it’s hard to feel ripped off. Covenant succeeds in fueling the appetite for more, should Scott be allowed to once again release his terrifying xenomorphic children into the shadows.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales: 2 out of 5
Alien: Covenant: 3.5 out of 5

Film Review - GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY VOL. 2

“I’m gonna make some WEIRD shit!” That exclamation, blurted out, eyes agog and mind visibly racing, by Chris Pratt’s ever-ironic Star-Lord shortly after reuniting with his God-like father Ego (Kurt Russell), perfectly sums up the insanely energetic mindset of writer/director James Gunn on his return visit to the Marvel cosmic universe. Following up his surprise smash 2014 origin story, the helmer maniacally kicks into hyperdrive with Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, doubling down on the irreverent hilarity of the first entry and ratcheting up the comic-book crazy to bracingly madcap effect. Remembering when we questioned whether Thor was a step too far for mainstream audiences to accept? Ah, how gently naive we all were.

Whereas the first time around Gunn was bolted down by the now boilerplate Marvel plot structure, complete with a magical item hunt motivated by a vaguely defined villain in Lee Pace’s Ronan, Vol. 2 sees him cutting loose and embracing the groove of his off-beat creation. And, unlike disappointing studio sequels such as Thor: The Dark World and Iron Man 2, the pressure to re-perform doesn’t hobble the movie, it liberates it. Akin to how Captain America: The Winter Soldier evolved from First Avenger, this return of the titular space-faring bad-asses deepens our understanding of the characters and their world, while opening genuinely exciting avenues for future excursions. It leaves one dizzy and salivating for Vol. 3, not brainstorming course corrections.

When we last left Guardians Peter Quill, Gamora (Zoe Saldana), Drax (Dave Bautista), Rocket (Bradley Cooper/Sean Gunn) and Groot (Vin Diesel) they were victoriously blasting off from Xandar in search of “something good, something bad… a bit of both.” They’ve found it, at the beginning of Vol. 2, after valiantly protecting the invaluable battery supply of the aristocratic gold-skinned Sovereign people from a giant slobbering space beastie. However, during the formal process of collecting their reward – Gamora’s evil adopted sister Nebula (Karen Gillen), who has a considerable bounty on her head – unscrupulous mistakes are made and the gang are fast on the run from the planet’s haughty High Priestess Ayesha (Elizabeth Debicki, an ideal blend of camp and self-seriousness) and her army of warships.

During a frenetic escape through an asteroid field, the team encounters Quill’s mysterious biological dad, a celestial being who is in actuality a living, thriving planet. This revelation leads Star-Lord on a quest to learn more about his heritage and his long-lost pa's origins and powers, while Drax bonds with Ego’s gentle companion Mantis (Pom Klementieff), a socially stunted empath with closely kept secrets. In the meantime, Rocket and Groot, with an indignant Nebula in tow, are reunited with disgraced Ravager captain Yondu (Michael Rooker), and get swept up in violent space pirate drama. Ultimately, through shocks and surprises best left unmentioned here, these two engrossing tales intersect in a spectacular climax that delivers a rewarding mega-bomb of character growth and unexpectedly poignant emotional resolution.

For all of its triumphs and indisputable success both commercially and critically, Marvel has long established itself as a producer-controlled brand – not dissimilar from the Bond films under the Broccoli family - where the director’s vision takes a backseat to the grand company plan. And it’s hard to argue with the results for the most part! However, Guardians Vol. 2 feels like the first entry to truly be driven by the sensibilities and obsessions of the auteur behind the wheel. This movie could only have been made by James Gunn, and his peculiar punkish style – honed on several proudly Z-grade Troma productions (including Tromeo and Juliet!), as well as cult faves Slither and Super – is gloriously unleashed across every colorful frame. Striking a perfect balance of off-the-wall and sweet, he bombards the audience with fast-paced bursts of bizarro quips and sight gags, while never allowing the relentless humor to stand in the way of a strong emotional hook. He’s also, of course, a maestro of musical cues, knocking it out of the park again with a killer soundtrack that enlivens the already dynamic proceedings. Sequences set to Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” and Jay & the American’s “Come a Little Bit Closer” hit all the right buttons, while the opening credits, featuring Electric Light Orchestra, launch the picture on a perfect crowd-pumping note. And while he lacks the action chops of the Russo Brothers, of Winter Soldier and Civil War fame, he smartly devises clever ways to undercut the more bombastic moments with unexpected reveals or running jokes.

As opposed to Vol. 1, the momentum here feels noticeably far more propelled by the characters than the plot. Frankly, this may just be Marvel’s answer to Howard Hawks’ Rio Bravo; a shaggy hangout film that sets up its story and then sits back and lets its heroes discover their own way to the conclusion, with plenty of amusing diversions along the way. For some this may prove frustrating. But Gunn and his actors understand these heroes and villains so deeply the pace never flags, and we gain priceless insight into their relationships and specific world views. Although the Fast and Furious series superficially crows on and on about the meaning of family, Guardians Vol. 2 is actively intrigued in exploring it, from the off-kilter dynamics between Quill and his dueling dysfunctional father figures Ego and Yondu to the resentful competitiveness dividing Gamora and Nebula. Every major figure has an interesting arc, from MVPs Rocket, baby Groot and Drax (Dave Bautista continues to be a surprising comedy weapon) all the way down to engaging second stringers Ayesha, Mantis and Sean Gunn’s antsy Ravager sidekick Kraglin.

There’s so much unbridled imagination, so much quirky joy running through Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 it often comes across as almost maddeningly effortless. Why can’t more colossal genre blockbusters hit equally rewarding notes or think outside the established boxes?! This is shaping up to be a very special franchise - so far the most confident and consistently winning among Marvel’s slew of very entertaining heavy-hitters – and Gunn leaves little doubt that wherever we find our heroes on their next adventure it thankfully won’t be anywhere safe or predictable.   

4 out of 5

Film Review - BEAUTY AND THE BEAST (2017)

To compare Walt Disney’s live action Beauty and the Beast remake to its 1991 animated classic predecessor is almost completely pointless. Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise’s Best Picture-nominated masterpiece is a nearly perfect work that, alongside The Lion King, marks the pinnacle of the company’s Renaissance era. Its haunting, heartfelt and gorgeous artistry forever evolved the form, moved generations of movie-lovers and now occupies the canon of all-time cinema triumphs. Whereas The Jungle Book offered plenty of wiggle room for invention, refining and reinterpretation, no such luck here. And so, rather thanklessly, director Bill Condon’s update of this tale as old as time can aspire only to honor what came before.

Luckily, for the most part this glossy big budget production does. While its reason for existing certainly has far more to do with profit generation than creative ambition, the filmmakers mostly succeed in pulling off the beloved highs and channeling enough of the original’s romantic and idealistic spirit to deliver an appealing old fashioned adventure steeped in new school technology. Whether or not that justifies the effort and countless millions is a question that will likely divide audiences, but there’s still enough novelty here to warrant attention as a modestly enchanting companion piece.

As you’d probably expect, there’s not a lot of variation in the story on this return visit. Belle (Emma Watson) is still a plucky and book-smart heroine, weary of day-to-day life in her “poor provincial town,” who winds up imprisoned in the forgotten castle of the monstrous cursed prince (Dan Stevens) after taking the place of her unlucky inventor father (Kevin Kline). The Beast’s abode is, of course, still occupied by the same gaggle of interfering household items, including Lumière (Ewan McGregor), Cogsworth (Ian McKellan), Chip (Nathan Mack) and Mrs. Potts (Emma Thompson), who enthusiastically adopt the role of matchmakers in order to break the spell that has altered them. Villainy is supplied once again by the narcissistic creep Gaston (Luke Evans), a boastful war hero with anger issues, and his simpering, visibly lovelorn cohort LeFou (Josh Gad, camping it up with wild abandon).

To be fair, though, the script, by Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and Evan Spiliotopoulos (The Huntsman: Winter’s War), doesn’t completely follow Linda Woolverton’s original screenplay – how it isn’t credited as source material is still a mite baffling - verbatim. Beauty and the Beast 2017 pleasantly expands on the courtship between the two confused prospective lovers, such as a nice addition wherein her passion for Shakespeare inspires him to call upon his own invaluable aristocratic education, and deepens the sadism and manipulative tendencies of Evans’ blustering antagonist. Unfortunately, they also graft a thoroughly unnecessary subplot regarding the Beast and Belle’s mothers onto the picture, the latter of which sticks out like a jarring sore thumb thanks to its too grim tone and a lazy throwaway plot device gimmick. At 129 minutes, tacked on material like this, a hacky and simplistic attempt to ground the characters’ psychology and give them a common bond, only takes up time with zero emotional reward.

Alas, it’s a bit of a damning testament that, more often than not, it is the new material that brings this Beauty and the Beast to a screeching halt, especially given the flawless economical storytelling of the 1991 film. Thankfully Condon, whose diverse and slightly batty resume, which includes entries like Kinsey, Dreamgirls and the two Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn installments, implicitly understands what he’s selling tickets for. He stages the cherished Alan Menken/Howard Ashman musical numbers with a showman’s splashy aplomb (soaring opener “Belle” and the eternally chill-inducing title number are the most dazzling showstoppers), and even gives Beast a grandly tormented torch song of his own. And despite having the impossible task of creating visual splendor on par with Disney animation at its best, he and his art department blanket the screen with stylishly melancholy gothic atmosphere, complete with perpetual snowfall and crumbling stone architecture with a groaning pulse of its own. Echoes can often be felt of Jean Cocteau’s hypnotic 1946 version of the fairy tale.

Condon and his team deserve credit for the technical polish of this Beauty and the Beast, which is more of a sumptuous visual extravaganza than Maleficent, the Alice in Wonderland movies or Kenneth Branagh’s otherwise superior Cinderella. They’re so good at adapting the unforgettable iconography of the original that’s it’s easy to take for granted, as the parts that stumble stand out more than the countless elements that don't. Yet, it must be said, the Beast’s transformed servants simply don’t work when grounded in our physical reality. Their stiff, busy designs lack charisma and never achieve the larger than life presence of their more colorful counterparts. This deficiency is most felt in the huge “Be Our Guest” sequence, which the director goes for broke with, but is drained of life and charm thanks to its performers’ lack of broadly exaggerated body language and expressive facial gestures. It’s easy to see why the filmmakers didn’t bother to include the song “Human Again,” which was added for the original’s 2002 re-release.

Despite all the shiny bells and whistles, all would be for naught if the performances fell flat. And, thankfully, they're almost all uniformly winning. Watson cheerfully radiates Belle's proud, inquisitive confidence, and knows exactly how to sell the pure wide-eyed wonder of a Disney heroine. She generates strong sparks with Stevens’ poignantly mournful mo-capped Beast, who’s noticeably less animalistic than Robby Benson’s, and has gentle chemistry with the always reliable Kline. Perhaps unsurprisingly, though, it’s Evans’ Gaston who steals the show! The actor, often cast in underwritten roles like the title bloodsucker in Dracula Untold and as the baddie of Fast & Furious 6, must have known he had landed an ideal showcase and attacks it with the ferocity of a pack of ravenous white wolves. He exhibits all the cartoonish, clueless vanity you’d hope (the “Gaston” performance doesn’t disappoint), with unsettling layers of intense psychological weirdness bubbling underneath.

With a flurry of live action Disney reinterpretations in the works – including The Lion King, Mulan, Fantasia’s “Night on Bald Mountain,” Peter Pan and *ahem* Dumbo – it’s tough to view this Beauty and the Beast as something that's overly special. However it’s a solidly transporting family entertainment that effectively taps into the audience’s profoundly powerful nostalgia for the 1991 film. This is skillful studio moviemaking, featuring many of the industry’s finest craftspeople working with ungodly resources to realize their vision. It just never convinces us into believing we’re watching magic.

3 out of 5

Film Review - XXX: THE RETURN OF XANDER CAGE

It’s safe to say the world didn’t need another sequel to XXX, nor did it probably want one. After all, the novelty of watching an extreme sports spy adventure wore off about 45 minutes into the thuddingly bland 2002 original. So why does The Return of Xander Cage exist then, you ask? Well, based purely on the evidence at hand, it exists entirely to serve as a big dumb tribute to the glowing majesty of Vin Diesel. For this movie argues the 49-year-old action star (who also produced) is both our greatest living athlete and a breathtaking specimen of pure perfection. Oh, and he’s utterly irresistible to all women, despite the fact the film’s love scenes have about as much carnal passion and raw sexuality as the famous Seinfeld bit where Kramer makes out with an Elaine mannequin. I’ll leave it to you to determine who the mannequin in this equation is. 

To be fair, Diesel in midlife crisis mode still usually works. But does it work here? Not so much, sadly. The problem really lies in the fact that, whereas the star’s Fast and Furious franchise has matured and evolved with the times, the XXX series has not. Yes, the family theme has been majorly boosted, with an appealingly diverse, albeit hit-or-miss, supporting cast put in place, yet the movie itself feels like a B-level effort from the last decade. The dialogue and scripting by F. Scott Frazier is flat at best, groan-inducing and dimly misogynistic at worst, and there’s not much wit or imagination to make up for the overwhelming lunk-headedness of the entire endeavor. If you’re not going to push the insanity of the dopey premise to feverishly crazy places, why really bother?

The Return of Xander Cage does raise hopes in its early moments, though, as we’re introduced to its apparent antagonists; a badass parkouring quartet of wild cards (Donnie Yen, Deepika Padukone, Tony Jaa and Michael Bisping) who crash CIA headquarters in order to steal an electronic gadget called Pandora’s Box. What is this all-important McGuffin, pray tell? It’s a handheld electronic device capable of bringing down satellites like guided missiles. All that really matters, however, is that CIA head honcho Jane Marke (Toni Collette, camping it up like a true pro) wants it back and recognizes there’s only one man capable of retrieving it.

She finds our tattooed savior in Latin America, where he’s performing Robin Hood-like feats for local villages using little more than a skateboard and, uh, snow skis. Although reluctant to re-align with the government, Cage ultimately enlists, bringing with him an alternative-styled squad of his own: sharpshooter Ruby Rose, madman driver Rory McCann, nerdy techie Nina Dobrev and rave DJ (yes, you read that correctly) Kris Wu. While the mission seems pretty straight forward at first, it’s isn’t long before the two opposing sides’ relentless series of stunt spectaculars and acrobatic displays of hyperkinetic fisticuffs give way to the staggering revelation there could be more going on than they initially realized. Gadzooks!

Unlike Rob Cohen’s series opener, or Lee Tamahori’s deservedly forgotten Ice Cube-led sequel State of the Union, The Return of Xander Cage actually manages to deliver a memorable action beat or two. The showcase sequences, such as Diesel’s aforementioned jungle skiing/skateboarding getaway, and a massive ocean-bound motorcycle chase between him and Yen, are cleanly staged by director D.J. Caruso (Eagle Eye) – who was previously notorious for his over-frenzied and incoherent on-screen action – and don’t suffer from the cartoony CG overload that occasionally sneaks in to the later bits. Sure, their overt goofiness detracts from any potential exhilaration, nevertheless they’re different and represent the film’s rare willingness to think outside the box. And it’s impossible to ignore the fact they all occur in the first half, leaving a second hour that relies far more on boring shoot-outs and passably-shot brawling. The climax, aboard a jumbo jet, offers some fun ideas without ever quite delivering the knock out we hope for.

Whereas Diesel’s engaging credibility as a physical presence is indisputable, he lacks the light touch charisma to really pull off this breed of character. He’s better at playing more emotionally burdened figures like Dom Toretto or Riddick, where his rumbling vocal affectations and tortured moodiness tap into a certain poetic tough guy gravitas. Xander Cage lacks those qualities, and relies more on playful flash and verve to get by. The actor does what he can with very dated material, firing off terrible puns and dire jokes dutifully, but never truly commands the screen like he should. Instead of being the magnetic anchor the movie needs, like spiritual predecessor James Bond, he’s often totally overshadowed by more compelling players like Yen, Collette, Samuel L. Jackson or his absurdly fluffy coat.

Unlike 2011’s fantastically amusing Fast Five, XXX: The Return of Xander Cage fails to succeed in its bid to persuade us this is a Diesel franchise in need of a renaissance. Back in 2002 the first entry attempted to advertise to the world that Bond was a tired relic in need of a more youthful and edgier replacement, and now we have a third sequel that seems to unconsciously aspire to ape the final Pierce Brosnan 007 film Die Another Day. That ain’t progress and it sure isn’t relevant, no matter how much hip hop music you add to the mix.

2 out of 5

Film Review - THE FOUNDER

As an actor, Michael Keaton is unable to mask his razor-sharp intellect. There’s a nervous, fidgety energy about him, a sense that he’s always working angles in his head. We always suspect he’s a step or two ahead of those around him, and that he’s consistently engaged by his secret determination to remain so. His best films, such as Tim Burton’s Batman entries, Beetlejuice, Spotlight, The Paper or Jackie Brown, tap into the live-wire eccentricity hidden beneath his everyman exterior and burst to life whenever he so much as raises his cocksure, devilish eyebrows.

It’s been great fun watching Hollywood rediscover him the last few years, beginning with the best picture-winning Birdman, and it’s a pleasure to see him land another perfect gig in The Founder, John Lee Hancock’s amusing biopic of wily McDonald’s visionary Ray Kroc. Opening in the mid-1950s, the movie chronicles the unlikely windfall of Keaton’s fast-talking-yet-floundering milkshake salesman after he stumbles upon a novel California eatery that serves up hot burgers while you wait. Instantly enamored with the joint, and its inventive behind-the-counter operations, he talks himself into a partnership with naïve owners Dick and Mac McDonald (Nick Offerman and John Carroll Lynch), and quickly focuses on blowing up the brothers' proud brand through franchising. Soon, however, Ray’s insecurities and ruthless, desperate ambitions bring him into conflict with his unsuspecting new partners, birthing an ugly war for ownership of the fledgling fast food empire.

While the notion of a McDonald’s origin story may not seem like the most tantalizing of creative endeavors, it’s an ideal project for director Hancock. Since making his helming debut with the 2002 baseball drama The Rookie, he’s shown a unique passion for exploring classic American institutions, from 2004’s The Alamo, to football (The Blind Side) and Disney (Saving Mr. Banks). And while he undeniably lacks the incisive, merciless bite of a true cultural critic, he’s a charming, breezy
filmmaker with a knack for crafting smart, pleasantly involving historical recreations that play well to mainstream audiences.

The Founder is no different, albeit with a more pessimistic edge thanks to Keaton’s unrepentant protagonist. And although Hancock doesn’t totally villainize Kroc – the movie leaves little doubt that his shameless self-promotion, go-for-broke investments and shady business tactics were crucial in propagating the McDonald’s name – it also doesn’t try to paint him as a misunderstood hero or unorthodox champion of the glorious American dream. No, as portrayed he’s an undeniable selfish bastard, dismissive of his weary supportive wife (an underused Laura Dern), and calculated in his efforts to exploit family values and community pride in order to sell cheap artery-clogging food. It’s too bad the script, by Robert Siegel (The Wrestler, Big Fan), wasn’t a little bit meaner, or interested in really delving into the relentless psychology that drove its subject. As entertaining as the picture is, it’s a little disappointing it never quite strives for the same deep dive analysis as Aaron Sorkin’s not dissimilarThe Social Network or Steve Jobs screenplays.

Even if the film’s aspirations are a bit artistically modest, Keaton has rarely been more committed. Speaking in a rat-a-tat Midwestern accent, and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, the actor explodes with over-compensating self-assurance. Whether unloading aggressively cheesy salesman patter directly into the camera, or shooting condescending barbs at Offerman and Lynch’s endearingly sympathetic, yet hopelessly out-of-their-depth, entrepreneurs, it’s a big, showy Movie Star© performance that skillfully propels the narrative and makes even the more mundane inside baseball dealings intriguing. This cinematic version of Kroc is the only guy in the room who truly knows the score, so it’s fitting that the solid supporting players, including Patrick Wilson, Linda Cardellini and an icy B.J. Novak, always seem to be orbiting him without ever quite stealing away the spotlight.

Watching our lead scheme and manipulate his way into fame and fortune at the expense of his innovative, hard-working colleagues, it’s impossible to ignore The Founder’s regrettably timely and relevant message. Hancock may not break much new ground in telling this very familiar story, but it’s well-acted and highly effective at communicating the ins and outs of McDonald’s journey towards global juggernaut status. And in Keaton’s Ray Kroc, we have a compelling embodiment of crass capitalist opportunism run amuck. Even if we don't necessarily need more of those right now.

3.5 out of 5

The Bottom 5 Worst Films of 2016

1) 31 – What in the name of batty ol’ Beelzebub has happened to Rob Zombie? Once considered one of horror’s most terrifically twisted and offbeat rising stars, he’s been on a depressing downward spiral ever since regrettably rebooting Halloween. His latest, the completely and hopelessly incompetent 31 – a dim-bulb film school student’s gore-streaked redneck take on The Running Man or Hunger Games – is awful to the point of being nigh unreleasable. The story, involving a team of carnies forced to survive an underground battle royale against grease-painted psychopaths (headed by a chilling Richard Brake), is merely a lazy excuse for Zombie to shamelessly resurrect ideas from superior past efforts like House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Devoid of even a faint glimmer of directorial ingenuity, 31 is little more than a crushingly tedious clown show.

2) ALICE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS – Disney may have posted record-breaking profits and released some great entertainments in 2016, but it wasn’t all sunshine and roses for them. Nope, the Mouse House also churned out this totally unnecessary and grating cash-grab bomb, which vomits forth flatlining origin stories for the Red and White Queen (Helena Bonham Carter and Anne Hathaway) and Johnny Depp’s lisping dandy Mad Hatter. Mistaking ugly cyclones of crappy CG and seemingly improvised plotting for charm and whimsy, James Bobbin’s Alice through the Looking Glass makes its mediocre Tim Burton-directed predecessor look like a shining model of inspired cinematic magic for the ages. Tragically, the only legacy this shrill debacle seems destined to leave is being the tragic answer to the trivia question: “What was celebrated actor Alan Rickman’s final movie role?” 

3) INFERNO – Say what you will about the previous Robert Langdon adaptations, they didn’t feel like the principal creative team was just phoning it in. Such is not the case with Inferno, the shambling Dante and Botticelli-themed artifact-chase starring Tom Hanks and Felicity Jones, which feels like it was assembled with all the passion of a 1990s Time Life books infomercial. Scattershot, artistically apathetic and talky to the point of inspiring the viewer to feverishly daydream about better movies they could be watching, Ron Howard’s third time at bat left zero doubt it’s time for the Dan Brown cinematic universe to be ingloriously left to gather dust for the foreseeable future.

4) COLLATERAL BEAUTY – Will Smith really, really needs to stay away from naked high concept Oscar grabs. You’d think he’d have learned his lesson after 2008’s legendarily ridiculous Seven Pounds, which featured an unforgettably bizarre supporting turn by a jellyfish. But no, he only pushed the envelope further in 2016 by appearing in this astonishingly ill-conceived drama about a near-suicidal ad exec whose best friends use elaborate manipulation to convince his company’s board of directors he’s insane following his daughter’s untimely death. And if that sounds utterly reprehensible, the film sure doesn’t seem to know it! Directed with insultingly synthetic feel-good smarminess by The Devil Wears Prada’s David Frankel, Collateral Beauty wastes its all-star cast on an unsalvageable, laughably convoluted story that can’t even coherently explain the meaning of its own unwieldy title.  

5) BLAIR WITCH – As the ageless expression goes, those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Apparently the usually dependable duo of director Adam Wingard and writer Simon Barrett, who previously spawned The Guest and You’re Next, didn’t pay close enough attention to the universal disinterest in 2000’s Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2. Maybe if they had, they wouldn’t have wasted their precious time cranking out this hacky found footage stinker, which mostly just rips off the zeitgeist-tapping 1999 surprise smash with far more screeching noise, cheap jump scares and braindead character decisions. Fittingly, however, audiences warded off the spell of Blair Witch, which became the lowest grossing installment yet, even after 16 years of ticket price inflation. Eek!

Dishonorable Mentions: BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE, GODS OF EGYPT, INDEPENDENCE DAY: RESURGENCE, TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES: OUT OF THE SHADOWS, WARCRAFT

The Top 10 Best Films of 2016

1) SING STREET – 2016 probably won’t go down in the history books as one of mankind’s proudest years. And yet, amidst all the cynicism and bad news, this unassuming little Irish musical from Once director John Carney emerged, utterly exploding with wide-eyed optimism, exhilaration and unbridled joy. An enchanting coming of age yarn about a teenage musician’s awkward artistic awakening, Sing Street boasts a terrific, disarming cast (Jack Reynor, as our hero’s slacker brother, is a star in the making), huge fist-pumping underdog story highs and an infectious all-timer soundtrack loaded with rousing earworm confections. Although there were several remarkably moving films released in the past twelve months, none matched this charmer’s  gift for leaving the viewer beaming ear to ear, ready to take on the world no matter the obstacles. 

2) MOONLIGHT – No doubt about it, Barry Jenkins’ enthralling coming of age triptych chronicling the development of a young gay black man in the slums of Miami was the most beautifully compassionate and deeply human cinematic work of 2016. Utilizing its protagonist’s specific journey to tap into countless universal truths, Moonlight never falls prey to artifice, cliché or cheap sentiment. No, rather it achieves something far more powerful and pure: catharsis. Populated by a wonderful ensemble – with towering stand-out turns by Mahershala Ali and Naomie Harris – this is an utter miracle of a movie, humble in its intentions but genuinely enriching for the soul.  

3) MANCHESTER BY THE SEA – Casey Affleck’s been building up steam for quite some time, amassing an impressive number of sensational performances in predominantly independent fare. Here, in Kenneth Lonergan’s audacious examination of the messy grieving process, he at last earns his place among our current acting titans playing a directionless loner forced to return to his home town to care for his teenage nephew – played by extremely promising newcomer Ben O’Brien - after his brother passes. Keenly observant, raw and frequently funny (no, seriously!), Manchester by the Sea is an intensely touching account of a damaged man waging an exhausting daily battle to come to terms with the wreckage of his past.    

4) NOCTURNAL ANIMALS – Fashion designer extraordinaire Tom Ford’s wrenching sophomore directorial effort is brutal, unforgettable proof that he’s the real deal. A combustible cocktail of cinematic influences - including Lynch, De Palma, Hitchcock and the Coens - Nocturnal Animals feverishly mashes up Cormac McCarthy-esque neo-western fatalism with despairing upper class ennui to uniquely jaw-dropping results. Unfolding over two parallel tales – one in the real world occupied by Amy Adams’ unsatisfied gallerist, the other a fictional narrative involving Jake Gyllenhaal and a wry lawman played by the brilliant Michael Shannon – that slyly comment on one another, the film sees Ford playing the audience like a piano, masterfully controlling tension and leaving you dazed, captivated and out of breath.

5) CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR – Never satisfied to rest on its laurels, the Marvel movie machine’s thirteenth (!) production was its best yet; a classic clash of compelling crime-fighting ideals that’s as interested in colorful character psychology as pyrotechnics. Nimbly accommodating a veritable army of all-star icons, including headliners Cap and Iron Man, as well as insect-themed scene-stealers Spider-Man and Ant-Man, Civil War is pure blockbuster bliss fueled by its makers’ unabashed adoration for their vibrant comic-book universe. After seeing similar material done horrendously wrong the same year by the noxious Batman v Superman, this third Captain America adventure once again saw the House of M confidently reminding the world that when it comes to superhero cinema nobody does it better than them.

6) ARRIVAL – It’s so rare to encounter a science fiction film that feels truly original and authentic that when it happens it’s impossible not to be swept up in a feeling of revelation. Such was the case with Denis Villeneuve’s brainy and unexpectedly poignant first contact story featuring Amy Adams as a linguistics expert struggling to decode a daunting extraterrestrial language against a volatile political ticking clock. An expertly scripted adaptation of Ted Chiang’s “Story of Your Life,” Arrival offers a potent blend of engrossing intellectual curiosity and profoundly moving emotional fireworks, and is all but guaranteed for genre canonization in the years to come.

7) ZOOTOPIA – Continuing its astounding recent animation hot streak, Disney’s hilarious, sincere and surprisingly sophisticated take on the buddy cop genre doesn’t just cheekily tweak the genre; it also manages to be a clever and involving entry in it as well. Buoyed by winningly multi-dimensional heroes, energetic world-building, laugh out loud gags (the much-hyped sloth scene is bonafide comedic genius) and a message that, sadly, couldn’t be any more relevant, Zootopia represented the best in family entertainment in 2016. Forget Frozen 2, get Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde back on another case, and pronto! 

8) LA LA LAND – After 2014’s astonishing Whiplash, helmer Damien Chazelle became one of the most encouraging rising talents in the industry. Even still, though, it’s more than a little dumb-founding how effortlessly playful and graceful this delightful Singin’ in the Rain-inspired musical odyssey feels under his assured guidance. From its bouncy opening freeway dance off, to the magical, wistful final reverie experienced by irresistible leads Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone, La La Land both sweetly honors the traditions and conventions of classic Hollywood song and dance pictures and delicately hits all the right heartfelt notes a modern audience would hope for.

9) THE NEON DEMON – A bracing and sobering antidote to La La Land’s dreamy sun-soaked look at the City of Angels, uncompromising auteur Nicolas Winding Refn’s fashion world grotesque-a-thon is one sick and twisted wake up call. Starring a naively innocent Elle Fanning as an aspiring model grasping at fame while triggering predatory instincts in those around her, The Neon Demon takes the director’s repulsively gorgeous brand of synthetic hallucinatory pop filmmaking to its most unsettling conclusion. Thrilling, dazzling and icy, it’s a spellbinder that writhes and sways to its own haunting rhythms, the hell with the consequences.        

10) ROGUE ONE: A STAR WARS STORY – Rarely ever before has calculated franchise retconning been this inventive or exciting! Gareth Edwards’ kinetic prequel to A New Hope does exactly what it should; expanding the Star Wars universe in fresh and interesting ways, adding appreciated shades of grey to its typically black and white morality and delivering wonderfully grand big screen spectacle. The first real examination of war in the series, Rogue One exploits its “men on a mission” formula to spectacular effect, considering the human cost in a series that previously rarely slowed down long enough to do so. By the time the epic slam-bang final act comes to its triumphant conclusion there’s little doubt the force is still very, very strong.

Honorable Mentions: DE PALMA, THE EDGE OF SEVENTEEN, EVERYBODY WANTS SOME!!, FENCES, PETE’S DRAGON, THE WITCH