Minions features always have felt less like a coherent film, and more like a randomly assorted collection of sight gags, but this one is particularly scattershot.
(It’s no accident that the Minions work best in cartoon shorts.)
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| Although the slyly duplicitous Goomi (the little green guy) has promised Minions James, Henry and Ed that they'll find their desired monsters in a long-abandoned island cave, getting there proves ... a bit hazardous. |
Prior to that, writers Pierre Coffin and Brian Lynch have fun dumping the little yellow troublemakers into silent-era Hollywood, where they skewer — or reference — every iconic moment made famous by the likes of George Méliès, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd and countless others.
(I do wonder, though ... will such material resonate with today’s moviegoers?)
The stage is set when the current Universal Pictures logo halts during mid-presentation, scrolls backwards, and then zips through its previous versions until arriving at the late 19th century dawn of cinema, with crudely animated, monochromatic Minions dancing on the screen.
The story proper begins as perky tour guide Olivia (voiced by Allison Janney) leads a group through a vast display of movie memorabilia. Sight gags abound even here, as a glass booth honoring George Lucas unexpectedly contains Lucas himself, trapped without his phone (and gamely voiced by Lucas).
Olivia builds to her big reveal of the two most famous figures in the entire museum: Minions James and Henry ... wholly unrecognized by anybody in the group. Appalled by this display of ignorance, Olivia begins an incredible saga that reveals how the official history of cinema is much weirder than what anybody has been taught.
The story begins in territory lifted from 2015’s Minions, as tribes of Minions voyage the Earth in prehistoric times, seeking to serve the world’s most despicable masters. One group, led by the disciplined and impatient Dick, has brief encounters with a massive, home-stomping cyclops and a Renaissance-era wizard.
Alas, in each case the impish, unfocused and invariably destructive Minions accidentally kill their temporary masters.
The imaginative James can’t keep his head in the game; much to Dick’s annoyance, he’s too busy drawing fantastical pictures of encounters with lurid monsters. (James doesn’t know it yet, but he’s in the process of inventing storyboards.) James therefore is shunned by the other Minions, with the exception of the loyal Henry, and the warm-hearted, hearing-impaired Ed, both of whom become best friends. (One struggles to imagine the finer points of Minion sign language.)
A few mishaps later, the Minions wind up in 1920s-era Hollywood, inadvertently crashing (literally) a film shoot involving a runaway train, bandits on horseback, Keystone Kops-laden vehicles, and all manner of property destruction. Auteur director Max (Christoph Waltz, doing a mean Marty Scorsese) initially fears the take has been ruined, but corpulent studio heads Frank and Elwood (both Jeff Bridges) deem it amazing.
And the Minions suddenly become the toast of the town.
Not wanting to reveal spoilers — but in order to finally get to the meat of the matter — let’s just say that Hollywood fame is, as ever, fleeting. Determined to follow his movie-making dreams, James leaves the others, accompanied by Henry and Ed. The remaining Minions, led by Dick, stumble across Dort (Jesse Eisenberg), a robot-costumed failure to launch hanging around outside a sci-fi convention.
Believing Dort’s insistence that he’s a robot-alien overlord determined to invade Earth, Dick and his relieved Minion posse latch onto him ... even when Dort catches the eye of a spirited suffragette (Zoey Deutch, as Debbie).
James, having led his friends to a huge, derelict building, and now determined to make a monster movie, remembers the book of spells formerly controlled by the aforementioned wizard. Wanting something massively terrifying, James and Henry chant what they assume will be the optimal spell ... and wind up with Goomi (Trey Parker), a tiny green Lovecraftian creature whose adorable appearance immediately undercuts the drama of his arrival.
Ah, but the boys don’t listen closely enough, when their new companion introduces himself as “Goomi the Deceiver.” Parker delivers an intriguing blend of faux sweetness and — when the Minions aren’t looking — something much more sinister.
James, Henry and Ed soon get their desired monsters ... but definitely not the way they expected.
Coffin and co-director Patrick Delage maintain a lively pace during this textbook case of comedic overload. If a particular joke fails to resonate, fear not; it’ll quickly be followed by half a dozen more.
Although the relentless sight gags, movie references, snarky (human) dialogue and eye-popping visuals are a treat, nothing beats the hilarity of Minion-speak. Every time you’re tempted to dismiss this argot as meaningless nonsense, a familiar word or phrase punctuates the gibberish. (I laughed out loud when the monster spell incantation opened with the phrase “Miso soup.”)
As has been the case since 2010’s Despicable Me, Coffin voices all the Minions, shading each character to reflect individual personality quirks. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if the speech is comprehensible. As Coffin explains, in the film’s press notes, “The most important thing is that the audience understands the intention, without needing the words to make literal sense.”
That’s always the case, and his rat-a-tat delivery never gets old.
Janney’s Olivia is a perfect blend of mischief and authority, and Waltz has fun making Max an impassioned impresario who understands James’ creative instincts. Eisenberg lends an intriguing air of mystery to his portrayal of Dort — does this guy ever take off his costume? — and Deutch gives Debbie warmth, confidence and unguarded enthusiasm.
Composer John Powell’s ferocious orchestral score adds considerable momentum and dramatic heft to these crazed proceedings. His music conveys both the sweeping grandeur of classic moviemaking — sharp-eared viewers will catch references to Franz Waxman, Max Steiner, Bernard Herrmann and Erich Wolfgang Korngold, among others — and playful filigrees that emphasize Minion emotional ups and downs.
Coffin and Delage wisely held their film to 90 minutes, correctly realizing that nonstop manic intensity — no matter how funny — eventually wears thin. Sadly, though, the ongoing, meta-laden “alternate universe” theme never quite gels; the relentless sight gags overwhelm Coffin and Lynch’s half-hearted attempts at anything resembling a coherent plot.
That aside, don’t leave too quickly; the end credits are filled with additional cut-scenes.
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