1.5 stars. Rated PG, despite considerable violence and heartbreaking content
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.18.19
Wow. Genocide, in a (supposedly) family-friendly Disney fantasy?
What’s next? Gang rape? Child mutilation?
Uncle Walt must be spinning in his grave.
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| En route to a lavish dinner designed to acquaint Maleficent (Angelina Jolie, center) with her future in-laws, Aurora (Elle Fanning) and Diaval (Sam Riley) can't help thinking that this might be a very, very bad idea. |
What were these people thinking?
Maleficent: Mistress of Evil is a tasteless, mean-spirited, Frankenstein’s monster of a movie: a textbook example of what happens when art is sacrificed on the altar of crass corporate commercialism. It follows 2014’s Maleficent, Disney’s response to Wicked, the stage play with its then-novel origin story of Dorothy Gale’s Wicked Witch of the West. Maleficent, in turn, was the origin story of the evil sorceress who bedeviled Aurora (aka Briar Rose) in Sleeping Beauty.
Which was a reasonable concept, the first time. But scripters Linda Woolverton, Micah Fitzerman-Blue and Noah Harpster have broken faith with the original fairy tale here — indeed, the entire genre — by blending cutesy-poo creatures with horrific violence, in service of a thoroughly unsubtle refrain of “We’ve got to overlook our differences, in order to get along.”
Real-world resonance notwithstanding, that lecture is getting very tiresome.
On top of which, the writers have blatantly borrowed (read: stolen) concepts from all manner of other, far superior fantasy sagas. The result is kitchen-sink overkill, as if dazzling us with a cornucopia of cheerful, colorful beasties will compensate for a story that becomes increasingly grim, depressing and sadistic.
And this is supposed to be for children? The PG rating is reprehensible, and a total lie. Disney should be ashamed.
Perhaps recognizing the folly of the entire production, most of the featured performers don’t bother acting. Angelina Jolie’s line readings are atrocious. Her Maleficent, intended to be intimidating, never rises above the smirking insolence of a star who recognizes that she’s wasting her time (and ours). Elle Fanning goes too far in the other direction; her Aurora is breathlessly melodramatic, her eyes forever wide with overwrought angst.
Harris Dickinson’s Prince Philip is no more than a stalwart hunk; his wooden insincerity is laughably inept. And the three actresses playing the colorful good fairies — transformed here into pixies dubbed Knotgrass (Imelda Staunton), Flittle (Lesley Manville) and Thistlewit (Juno Temple) — are just plain annoying.
Given that most of these actors have done superior work elsewhere, director Joachim Rønning deserves the blame for their poor performances here. He has no feeling for this material, having previously helmed only grim historical sagas — Max Manus: Man of War and Kon-Tiki — and 2017’s ill-advised Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, a similar big-budget franchise flop.
This one’s continuing saga, such as it is (bear in mind it has no relation to Charles Perrault, the Brothers Grimm or even Disney’s 1959 animated hit):
Making good on the uncharacteristic benevolence she displayed as the previous film concluded, Maleficent has raised Aurora to young womanhood, and made her Queen of the Moor: the human guardian of the realm’s myriad Fae nymphs, sylphs, pixies, fairies, elves and brownies. The checklist also includes the tiny, hedgehog-like Pinto and mushroom-like Button, and shambling, cranky tree creatures shamelessly stolen from Tolkien (and/or Guardians of the Galaxy).
Aurora and Philip have maintained their mutual devotion; he therefore proposes. The pending union delights Philip’s father, King John (Robert Lindsay), who hopes to unite the Moor folk with his kingdom of Ulstead. His wife, Queen Ingrith (Michelle Pfeiffer), is less enthusiastic; Maleficent is downright hostile. Given her previous ill treatment at the hands of two-faced humans, she can’t really be blamed.
An effort to make peace during a dinner banquet goes horribly awry, leaving King John in a deep sleep coma — akin to the spell that previously afflicted Aurora — with the blame logically assigned to Maleficent. It’s all part of a long-gestating plan to destroy her forever, with much of the dirty work handled by the sublimely vile Gerda (Jenn Murray) and diminutive scientist Lickspittle (Warwick Davis); the latter conducts ghoulish experiments on helpless Fae in his deep-deep-deep basement laboratory.
The character palette then expands to include a massive, cavernous nest of “Dark Fey”: winged and horned creatures who resemble Maleficent, and who have been driven into this sole refuge by the world’s ever-expanding human civilizations. The Dark Fey are characterized by the noble Conall (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who hopes for peace; and the violent Borra (Ed Skrein), who insists that the only good human is a dead one.
Back in Ulstead, Lickspittle perfects a toxic airborne dust that destroys any Fae with which it comes into contact.
So: The first act introduces all manner of adorable Moor inhabitants; the second act introduces an entire species of Maleficent-like warriors from numerous races, depending on their former origins in forests, deserts, swamps or Northern snows.
The third act? It’s a massacre: unforgivably vile, despicable, tasteless and heartbreaking. Is it supposed to hurt less, because these are fantasy creatures? Hardly. It’s like watching elephants get slaughtered. Not what I’d call family fare.
Well-plotted fantasies make a point of getting us to bond with amazing beasties, so that we invest in their fate. Instead, Rønning’s ham-fisted approach trivializes all these characters, and that’s as deplorable as what happened to Maleficent in the previous film.
The overall narrative also is sloppy, with sidebar details simply abandoned. As introduced, and given his initial focus, we expect the mischievous Pinto to play an important role in what follows. That never happens. The one-dimensional Conall and Borra apparently stand in for all the Dark Fey clans: a superficial plot device that fails to satisfy on any level.
And — the first resort of bad writing — whenever things get too dire, a character suddenly displays a hitherto unseen magical talent. Ergo, nothing to worry about.
In fairness, the news isn’t all bad. Sam Riley, also returning from the first film, deftly navigates the line between resourceful loyalty and comic relief, as Maleficent familiar: the raven-turned-human Diaval. He’s a lot of fun. At the opposite extreme, Murray is equally compelling — despite getting very little dialog — as the depraved Gerda; she’s quite chilling.
Patrick Tatopoulos’ production design is awesome, although some of cinematographer Henry Braham’s swooping follow-shots through forests and castle outbuildings call too much attention to themselves (and clearly are present solely for the benefit of 3D screenings).
Geoff Zanelli’s orchestral score is uninspiring, and his main theme sound suspiciously like Mark Knopfler’s title song from 1987’s The Princess Bride.
Maleficent: Mistress of Evil is a bad film, but that isn’t its greatest sin. It’s also a contemptible betrayal of Disney’s brand and history.
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