The Lost City: Don't bother finding it

The Lost City (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for violence, profanity, sexual candor and partial nudity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

After catching up with several dour, dreary and downright discombobulated films in anticipation of the Oscars, I looked forward to something light and larkish.

 

Old saying: Be careful what you wish for.

 

Sporting the least-practical onesie in cinema history, Loretta (Sandra Bullock) suddenly
realizes that she and Alan (Channing Tatum) have stumbled upon key secrets
regarding the "Lost City of D."

The Lost City is impressively dumb, even by the loose standards of such star-driven adventure flicks. The lack of continuity in this script — by co-directors Aaron and Adam Nee, along with three other hands — is matched only by plot holes large enough to drive this story’s MRAP vehicle through.

Mostly, though, all the actors try much too hard: as if adding overwrought emphasis to their line readings will transform a given scene into something meaningful. Or even slightly credible.

 

One wonders why The Brothers Nee were entrusted with such a large project. Nothing in their résumé suggests the slightest affinity for this genre.

 

And goodness; they certainly didn’t rise to the occasion.

 

In fairness, the premise has promise: Insufferably erudite romance novelist Loretta Sage (Sandra Bullock) owes much of her popularity to hunky cover model Alan (Channing Tatum), who has dedicated his career to embodying her heroic character, “Dash.” Personal tragedy has made Loretta a recluse; a rising awareness of how Alan’s tail is wagging her dog, has made her jealous and unwilling to meet fans.

 

How droll, then, that Loretta and Alan should wind up in the midst of an actual exotic and perilous adventure, much like the swooningly melodramatic escapades in her novels.

 

Matters kick off when Loretta is kidnapped, following the first disastrous stop of a book tour, by eccentric billionaire Abigail Fairfax (Daniel Radcliffe). Possessing just enough archeological knowledge to make him dangerous, Fairfax has long pursued the legendary “Lost City of D,” where he hopes to find a rare diamond necklace supposedly hidden within.

 

Loretta and her late husband, both well-versed in archaeology, once explored the region; her newest novel includes some of its ancient pictograph language symbols … hence Fairfax’s determination that she can help him find the treasure. And her unwilling abduction to a remote, jungle-laden volcanic island.

 

So far, so good. 

 

Back in the States, Alan tracks her movements via her Smart watch; he recalls an association with former Navy SEAL Jack Trainer (Brad Pitt), who dabbles in yoga and hostage retrieval.

 

Pitt’s brief involvement with this saga is — by far — the film’s high point: a well choreographed and audaciously skilled bit of Bondian derring-do.

 

After which, the script turns bone-stupid, and The Brothers Nee completely lose control of their film.

 

Bullock and Tatum don’t share much chemistry. Their bickering and squabbling — once reunited, and fleeing from Fairfax’s men in the jungle — quickly grows tiresome. She snobbishly overwhelms him with big words, constantly correctly his malapropisms; he relies too heavily on aw-shucks charm intended to demonstrate that he’s honest, dependable and loyal.

 

But all the dialogue sounds forced and artificial: stuff they spout simply because it’s on the scripted page, rather than flowing organically.

 

Amazing, as well, that this teeming jungle seems to be utterly devoid of animal life. No snakes, birds or nasty mammals: nothing beyond mosquitoes and leeches. What’re we dealing with here … the back lot of Jungles R Us?

 

Speaking of leeches … poor Alan gets a bad case, milked for high comedy (an admittedly amusing sequence), after he and Bullock attempt to throw off their pursuers by wading through a river. Interesting, then, that their pursuers don’t get similarly infested (aside from a single token leech on one guy’s arm).

 

Then there’s the matter of the form-fitting, purple-sequined jumpsuit that Loretta wears during this entire adventure. As introduced, during the book tour event, it’s so tight that she has trouble sitting on a stool. Yet once on the island, she runs, jumps, wades and climbs a mountain (!) in this same outfit, without any apparent difficulty.

 

C’mon, writers … surely you can pay better attention to details!

 

To his credit, Radcliffe makes a great villain: bratty, petulant and floridly self-centered. He’s the sole actor who knows how to properly chew on his character’s bombastic dialogue.

 

Da’Vine Joy Randolph is less successful as Beth, Loretta’s best friend and aggrieved manager: at wit’s end due to the delays this new book encountered, along with her client’s uncooperative attitude. Beth’s shift to resolute private detective, following Alan’s trail in an effort to find her missing pal, is simply jaw-dropping. Poor Randolph — who has been much funnier elsewhere — is saddled with atrocious dialogue; she winds up flailing as much as her character.

 

Patti Harrison is one-note unfunny as Allison, Beth’s new social media manager. The writers apparently had no idea what to do with her character.

 

Oscar Nuñez is somewhat more successful, as a cargo plane pilot who pops up in the third act; he’s genuinely amusing.

 

But by this point, it’s too little, too late. The film completely collapses during a climax that evokes memories of 1960s television characters laughably trying to generate tension while clinging to papier-mâché cliffside pathways. On top of which, the story’s climax doesn’t offer anywhere near the proper level of revenge.

 

Bullock and Tatum deserve better.

So do we.