Two stars. Rated PG-13, for relentless cartoon violence and fleeting profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.2.19
Too loud, too preposterous, and too bloody long.
This isn’t a movie; it’s a pinball machine, with two-legged combatants randomly rolling around an obstacle-laden playing field, savagely bumping into each other for no particular reason.
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| With the fate of the entire planet resting on their shoulders, Shaw (Jason Statham, driving) and Hobbs (Dwayne Johnson) get ready for a rather improbable lassoing stunt. |
The so-called director of this mess, David Leitch, graduated from stuntman to stunt coordinator over the course of two decades; succumbing to delusions of grandeur, he turned director for Atomic Blonde, Deadpool 2 and this sorta-kinda entry in the Fast and Furious franchise.
All three films have the same thing in common: They’re soulless, live-action cartoons operating under the delusion that relentless mayhem compensates for a complete lack of plot and characterization.
It doesn’t.
Bravura action scenes work best when they’re an explosive surprise amid a story that has built tension, drama and emotional gravitas. (Consider the Matt Damon Bourne films as excellent examples.)
Leitch’s approach is akin to a diet of nothing but ice cream. No matter how much we enjoy such dessert as the delicious conclusion to a savory meal, being force-fed nothing but ice cream for 135 butt-numbing minutes — the length of this cinematic travesty — isn’t merely tedious; it becomes acutely painful.
In fairness, Leitch can’t take the sole blame; this misbegotten script comes from Chris Morgan and Drew Pearce, who deserve some sort of chutzpah award for having been paid for this utter absence of anything resembling an actual story. The 135-minute result actually is rather impressive, for its vacuousness.
Dwayne Johnson’s whup-ass and Jason Statham’s martial-arts beatdowns have been lots of fun in the past, and — goodness knows — both have starred in their share of brain-dead clunkers (Skyscraper and The Meg, respectively, in the recent past). In many cases, the two action stars have skated by via droll ’tude and sheer force of incandescent personality; they’re usually a lot of fun to watch.
That said, I suspect Hobbs & Shaw will task the patience of even their most ardent fans.
The so-called plot opens explosively, when a British MI6 team attempts to safeguard “The Snowflake,” a mysterious vial that contains a lethal pathogen which, if weaponized, could wipe out a large percentage of the world’s population. The team is ambushed by mercenaries led by the cybernetically enhanced Brixton Lorr (Idris Elba); the sole surviving agent, Hattie Shaw (Vanessa Kirby), believing there’s no other option, injects herself with the pathogen and then flees.
Um … like, she couldn’t simply have fled with the vial in her pocket, as opposed to poisoning herself with its contents?
(Trust me; you can’t worry about plot logic here. Morgan and Pearce obviously have no idea what that even is.)
Lorr works for Eteon, a global shadow organization led by an unseen individual with a deep, booming voice (who sounds much like the unseen SPECTRE chief in early James Bond films). Eteon intends to use The Snowflake to “solve” the world’s overpopulation problem by killing all “weaker” individuals.
That identical scheme raised eyebrows when it was the justification for so much carnage in spring’s Godzilla: King of the Monsters, and it’s just as daft here.
Eteon has the disinformation skills to make the entire world believe that Hattie killed her own comrades and stole the pathogen, which prompts MI6 and the CIA to put their best rogue operatives on the case: Luke Hobbs (Johnson) and Deckard Shaw (Statham). Who can’t stand each other, and spend most of the first two (interminable) acts trying to establish top-dog dominance.
Hattie, it should be mentioned, is Deckard’s long-estranged sister; this adds a bit of family dynamic tension.
He and Hobbs quickly link up with her, which is fortunate; Hattie has only 72 hours before the microscopic Snowflake capsules dissolve in her body, instantaneously killing her and then being unleashed on an unsuspecting world. The trio therefore embarks on a series of improbable missions involving an under-dressed Russian arms dealer (Eiza González) and the rogue Eteon scientist (Eddie Marsan) who developed the deadly pathogen, with Lorr and an endless supply of gun-toting thugs always right behind them.
Our heroes race from London to Moscow and Chernobyl, along the way indulging in all manner of melees and vehicular chases (gotta honor those “Fast and Furious” roots). Many of these relentless action set-pieces are audacious, but their intensity is diluted by Leitch’s ham-handed direction. Everything is assembled via Christopher Rouse’s hyperkinetic editing, giving us very little sense of any continuity of stunt work.
If it’s all put together one fleeting shot at a time — cut; move the cameras for the next bit — why should we be impressed by the result? Everything winds up looking … well … fake. Bogus. Artificial.
Yawn.
Just when it feels like the story (as such) is wrapping up, as viewers likely are checking their watches, we’re suddenly dragged into a dog-nuts fourth act in Samoa, where Hobbs confronts his family roots … and we’re introduced to an entirely new set of supporting characters, led by Cliff Curtis, as Hobbs’ brother Jonah, and Lori Tuisano, as their imperious mother.
Like, wow. If you thought things were silly up to this point, you ain’t gonna believe what happens next.
Kirby, perhaps recognized as Princess Margaret on TV’s The Crown, gets points for her character’s sass and resourceful pluck; she, too, is a lot of fun. Indeed, she’s much more entertaining than Johnson or Statham, because she’s a fresh character; their shtick has grown too familiar via repetition.
Idris is appropriately malevolent as the unstoppable Lorr, and he puts genuine menace into the man’s aristocratically dire pronouncements; he makes a marvelous villain. Marsan is a hoot as the initially mousy Professor Andreiko, who gets his chance to play hero.
On the other hand, Helen Mirren is wasted in her fleeting appearance as Shaw’s mother; you’ll also spot Ryan Reynolds and Kevin Hart in inconsequential guest roles.
The entire film unfolds against Tyler Bates’ shrieking score, which battles for dominance with a barrage of similarly over-amped pop, rock and rap anthems. There’s little opportunity for silence, or to draw breath; as with the visual pandemonium, the earsplitting soundtrack is relentless.
Are we having fun yet?
Decidedly not.
Hobbs & Shaw concludes with a blatant foreshadowing of a sequel to come: a notion that’s much scarier than anything Lorr says or does. It’s a shame to see Johnson and Statham settle for such deplorable junk, when — given a real director and scripters — this film could have been so much better.
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