Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga — An awesome, explosive sci-fi epic

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for relentless strong violence, gore and grisly images

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Seventy-nine years young, director George Miller has lost none of his creative energy or filmmaking chops.

 

Piloting the weapons-laden War Rig — and accompanied by scores of kamikaze
"War Boys," who'll cheerfully die while taking out enemies — Praetorian Jack
(Tom Burke, left) and Furiosa (Anya Taylor-Joy) believe they're ready for anything.
Boy, are they in for a surprise...

Actually, he’s getting better, which is saying a great deal.

Furiosa, the fifth installment in his increasingly complex Mad Max saga — chronologically, the fourth — is a wildly imaginative, audaciously breathless, pedal-to-the-metal thrill ride. This film never lets up, from its first moment to the last, and its 148-minute length doesn’t feel excessive. Indeed, I was disappointed when the final fade to black led to the end credits.

 

That said, Miller’s grimly amoral, post-apocalyptic nightmare of a violence-ridden future isn’t for the faint of heart; this is savage stuff.

 

Those willing to embrace Miller’s vision will be stunned by the spectacle, the awesome production design (Colin Gibson), the mind-blowing stunt work and energetically choreographed action sequences (Guy Norris), the crackerjack editing (Eliot Knapman and Margaret Sixel), the wildly bizarre and often repugnant costume design (three-time Oscar winner Jenny Beavan, one of them for 2016’s Mad Max: Fury Road), the similarly weird and wacky makeup design Lesley Vanderwalt), and the unbelievable energetic cinematography (Simon Duggan).

 

All of which is assembled, with unerring precision, by the equally gifted Miller.

 

Honestly, adjectives fail me.

 

For those not versed in the Mad Max saga — after all, the first three films were four decades and change ago — an off-camera narrator explains, during a brief prologue, that a global catastrophe left much of Earth uninhabitable. Most of Australia, setting for this narrative, is a radioactive wasteland.

 

(One must take this information with a possible grain of salt; later events suggest that this is an unreliable narrator.)

 

The subsequent storyline is divided into five chapters, each running roughly half an hour, each given ominously ironic titles. The first opens as adolescent Furiosa (Alyla Browne) and Valkyrie (Dylan Adonis) pick fruit in the Eden-like “Green Place of Many Mothers.” Furiosa spots four raiders; aware of the importance of keeping this realm a secret from any outsiders, she tries to sabotage their motorbikes.

Thor: Love and Thunder — A mighty bore

Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for sci-fi violence, occasional profanity, suggestive content and partial nudity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.8.22

A bit of levity is welcome in a superhero film; otherwise, the thrashing, bashing and smashing would become tedious.

 

But too much levity is just as bad, and this film crosses that line. And then some.

 

When the malevolent Gorr floods New Asgard with all manner of icky, shadowy monsters,
even Thor (Chris Hemsworth) quickly feels overwhelmed.

The fourth Thor entry is a relentlessly silly clown show, and the blame clearly belongs to director/co-writer Taika Waititi; he pushes the inane dialogue and burlesque atmosphere even further than he did with 2017’s mostly silly Thor: Ragnarok.

In Waititi’s hands, Chris Hemsworth’s Thor is little more than a strutting buffoon.

 

Granted, a touch of Shakespearean egotism is appropriate; we are dealing with a near-omnipotent Norse God. Conceit comes with the territory. Director Kenneth Branagh — perfect for the assignment — better understood the balance, when he helmed the first film, back in 2011.

 

Waititi immediately shows his hand, during a prologue that finds Thor still allied with the Guardians of the Galaxy (with whom he departed Earth, following the events in 2019’s Avengers: Endgame, for those not up to date). The Guardians are trying to protect blue-skinned Indigarrians from an invading force determined to take over the planet; Thor sits out the battle until things turn dire, at which point he and his lightning-spitting battle axe make short work of the entire enemy army.

 

Much to the annoyance of the exhausted Guardians, who’ve clearly had enough of this swaggering narcissist. As we also will, very quickly.

 

That’s bad enough; far worse is the collateral destruction of the Indigarrians’ holiest of holies, which Waititi and co-scripter Jennifer Kaytin Robinson discard as a cheap laugh.

 

That’s unforgiveable … and a dire indication of things to come.

 

The “big bad” this time is Gorr the God Butcher (Christian Bale, almost unrecognized beneath make-up), a once-pious individual who renounced worship after the death of his entire species. Rage and despair allowed Gorr to be infected by the malevolent spirit of a god-killing sword, and he has since been systematically eliminating gods, universe by universe.

 

Next stop: New Asgard, on Earth.

 

Ah, yes … New Asgard. The actual Asgard, Thor’s celestial realm — along with most of his fellow warriors — was destroyed during Thor: Ragnarok. The remaining Asgardians have made a home in New Asgard, which has blossomed into an excruciatingly cutesy Norse theme park.

 

Look closely, and you’ll spot Matt Damon, Sam Neill, Melissa McCarthy and Hemsworth’s brother Luke, as a quartet of so-wooden-they-warp stage actors.

Extraction: Like getting a tooth pulled

Extraction (2020) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for profanity, brief drug use, and relentless strong, bloody violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.8.20

It’s always easy to identify a stunt coordinator/second unit director granted the opportunity to ascend to the big-dog throne.

Determined to keep young Ovi (Rudhraksh Jaiswal) alive, Tyler Rake (Chris Hemsworth)
must figure out how to evade an entire city's worth of bent cops and soldiers under the
command of a ruthless drug lord.

The resulting film is little but relentless — and redundant — action, with fleeting pauses for microscopic dollops of character development and something vaguely approaching actual acting. The scripts can be written on a postage stamp.

Such is the case with the Netflix original, Extraction, which — if nothing else — certainly gave star Chris Hemsworth a lot of exercise … and very little else. Absolutely none of his twinkly charm is on display here; he plays his role as if it were a punishment.

Director Sam Hargrave and editors Ruthie Aslan and Peter B. Ellis keep things moving at a furious clip; even so, there’s only so many ways to shoot and stab people. 

One gets the impression our protagonist is on a crusade to single-handedly decimate the population of Bangladesh. As this endlessly violent saga proceeds, he appears to be succeeding.

During a brief prologue, we meet Ovi (Rudhraksh Jaiswal), the young son of jailed arch-criminal Mahajan (Pankaj Tripathi); the boy lives a privileged but lonely existence, his every move monitored by gun-toting protectors. Due to Ovi’s own carelessness, he’s kidnapped by thugs belonging to rival drug lord Amir Asif (Priyanshu Painyuli), and squirreled away in a heavily guarded apartment complex in Dhaka.

Mahajan, understandably ticked off, orders his lieutenant Saju (Randeep Hooda) to rescue the boy … which is, of course, utterly impossible. Asif’s legion of well-armed goons aside, the drug lord also has the local police and military in his pocket.

So, who ya gonna call?

That would be Tyler Rake (Hemsworth), a black-market mercenary whose utter fearlessness results mostly from a death wish. This is, you see, a Man Haunted By Something. Hargrave and scripter Joe Russo tease us with occasional memory flashes, as this saga proceeds; Hemsworth’s taciturn features reveal very little.

Actually, they reveal absolutely nothing, and the same can be said of most characters in this video game disguised as a movie. Scant dialog is traded back and forth; emotional depth is conveyed (actually, it usually isn’t) by lingering takes on grim, silent expressions. We’re just supposed to understand, donchaknow.

Men in Black International: Mindless fun

Men in Black International (2019) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for goofy sci-fi action and mild profanity
By Derrick Bang

It’s nice to know that the Men — and Women — in Black continue to protect Earth from the scum of the universe.

Confronted by sinister alien assassins with apparently unlimited powers, M (Tessa
Thompson) and H (Chris Hemsworth) do their best with a hilariously expanding roster
of firepower.

Nice to know, as well, that key elements of the franchise work just as well today, as they did in Lowell Cunningham’s 1990 comic book, the initial 1997-2012 film series, and the 1997-2001 animated TV series.

(Clearly, Earth has been under siege by a lotta scummy aliens.)

On the other hand, aspects of this new film’s Matt Holloway/Art Marcum script are vague and under-developed, and far too much time is devoted to snarky banter between stars Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson, and not nearly enough time to the often artfully camouflaged ETs that populated the earlier films.

In a word, Holloway and Marcum are lazy. They too frequently rely on our familiarity with this franchise, as if that’s enough on which to float a rather simplistic plot. They get away with this, to a degree, because the premise is so amusing in its own right.

They also wisely reprise the gimmick that fueled the first film: the initiation of a novice MIB operative, which allows us to enjoy the agency’s demented environment through her astonished eyes. 

The rookie in question is Molly (Thompson), who as a small girl witnessed her parents having their memories wiped by the pen-like Neuralyzer, in order to forget the presence of MIB operatives searching for a rogue ET. Molly never forgot this fascinating incident, along with her own close encounter of the third kind. She grew up to become a dedicated scholar and resourceful sleuth, determined to identify and locate the agency (CIA? FBI?) to which those immaculately garbed individuals belong.

She ultimately succeeds — clever gal — much to the displeasure of Agent O (Emma Thompson), whose initial impulse is to use the Neuralyzer on this intruder. But O can’t help being impressed by Molly’s perspicacity and spunk. And besides, the agency could use a few more women. (More than a few, I should think.)

Molly is assigned a code name — M — and sent to London, where she encounters the legendary H (Hemsworth), who once famously saved Earth from a hyper-aggressive species known as The Hive, while armed solely with his wits and a De-Atomizer. Alas, H has become a preening, puffed-up parody of his former self: much too infatuated with his own reputation. He’s also prone to reckless behavior that skirts the edge of MIB’s most crucial rule: Never allow the public to witness any bizarre otherworldly activity or tech.

Avengers Endgame: Epic in every respect

Avengers Endgame (2019) • View trailer 
Five stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, sci-fi action and mild profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.26.19

Like, wow.

When reflecting on what has brought us to this point — 21 cleverly interlocking earlier films, starting with 2008’s Iron Man, all of them stitched together with the meticulous expertise of a master weaver — we can only shake our heads in wonder.

In desperate need of some good news, the remaining Avengers — from left, Natasha
Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson), Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Bruce Banner (Mark
Ruffalo) and James Rhodes (Don Cheadle) — are startled by what has just descended
from the night sky.

The flow chart alone must’ve been a nightmare.

The Marvel Universe series has delivered impressive highs and regrettable lows, but even the latter have maintained the all-important continuity. And with respect to the former, one team has stood proud since 2014’s Captain America: The Winter Soldier; co-directors Anthony and Joe Russo, allied with co-writers Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely. They subsequently brought us 2016’s Captain America: Civil War and both halves of the all-stops-out Avengers blockbuster that concludes with this skillfully crafted Endgame.

As the saying goes, this one has it all (and them all). Thrills, chills and spills. You’ll laugh; you’ll grit your teeth; you’ll be on the edge of your seat; you’ll cry. Indeed, you may cry a lot, depending on the degree to which you’ve bonded with this galaxy of characters.

Few of today’s so-called epics can justify a protracted length that feels self-indulgent long before the final act. Ergo, the mere thought of this one’s 181 minutes might be intimidating. Don’t worry. Russo & Russo, working closely with editors Jeffrey Ford and Matthew Schmidt, make every minute count. They understand the crucial importance of quieter, character-enhancing moments.

I haven’t been this satisfied with a marathon finale since 2003’s The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. (And that was even longer, at 201 minutes.)

This isn’t merely a lot of tedious sturm und drang, like most of the grimly dour, landscape-leveling entries from the competing DC universe. Markus and McFeely work on our hearts; the awesomely huge cast makes us care. They believe in these characters; as a result, we can’t help doing the same.

One crucial element becomes more obvious, as this film proceeds. Despite the fact that Steve Rogers’ Captain America (Chris Evans) has long been teased as the Avengers’ quaintly clichéd rah-rah, always quick to offer corny pep talks, he’s not the heart and soul of this franchise. That position belongs to Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark/Iron Man, who has always — as he does again here — brought just the right dignity and spirit to these ginormous adventures.

Bad Times at the El Royale: Well titled

Bad Times at the El Royale (2018) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for strong violence, profanity, drug content and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

It begins with such promise.

During the first hour, I couldn’t wait to see this film a second time.

Traveling salesman Laramie Seymour Sullivan (Jon Hamm, left) and touring soul singer
Darlene Sweet (Cynthia Erivo) are just as surprised as desk manager Miles Miller
(Lewis Pullman), when their check-in procedure is interrupted by a brazen newcomer.

Shortly thereafter, my enthusiasm began to wane. Ninety minutes in, it was obvious that one viewing would be sufficient.

By the time this interminable slog had concluded, I wanted my 141 minutes back.

Yes, it’s that long. No, the length isn’t justified. Not by any means.

I suspect writer/director Drew Goddard intended Bad Times at the El Royale to be a similarly snarky and dark-dark-darkblend of this past spring’s Hotel Artemis and Quentin Tarantino’s Hateful Eight. The preview certainly suggested as much, and Goddard’s pedigree is solid; he was the guiding hand behind 2012’s ferociously clever The Cabin in the Woods, and he cut his teeth writing and directing episodes of cult TV faves such as Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Alias and Lost.

What could possible go wrong?

Well … a lack of self-discipline, for starters. An inability to recognize when “mischievous” veers into “tasteless.” And a failure to perceive that although his script has a great set-up and premise, the execution leaves much to be desired. By the bonkers third act, at which point the film has gone completely off the rails, one gets a sense that Goddard was hastily scribbling fresh pages as he went along.

Such a disappointment.

That said, there’s no denying the skill with which Goddard toys with us, during the ingeniously twisty first hour.

It’s January 1969: a time of momentous upheaval, as the last vestiges of the debonair, Rat Pack jazz era are buried beneath the rock ’n’ roll-fueled counter-culture revolution. Richard Nixon has just been inaugurated as the 37th president of the United States, and a new decade beckons.

But on the border between California and Nevada, the once-glorious El Royale still seems time-locked in the 1950s. The resort is cheekily built to straddle both states, with a fat red line dividing the two wings of rooms, and running right down the middle of the spacious lobby. The establishment offers warmth and sunshine to the west, and hope, opportunity — and gambling — to the east. Once upon a time, this Tahoe hot spot catered to the country’s most famous celebrities and politicians; now it’s just this shy of being a ghost.

(The El Royale is inspired by the actual Cal Neva Resort and Casino, which similarly straddled both states.)

Avengers: Infinity War — Too much of a good thing?

Avengers: Infinity War (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, and perhaps generously, for relentless brutal violence and destruction, fleeting profanity and occasional crude references
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.27.18

Way back in the day, Universal Studios had the bright idea to gather all of their movie creatures together in a couple of glorious monster mashes — 1944’s House of Frankenstein, and 1945’s House of Dracula — after their individual franchises had run out of steam.

With Thanos due at any moment on the devastated planet titan, our already exhausted
heroes — from left, Spider-Man (Tom Holland), Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), Drax
(Dave Bautista), Star-Lord (Chris Pratt) and Mantis (Pom Klementieff) — prepare for
a final battle.

Marvel Studios has unleashed the same superhero romp for precisely the opposite reason. Having meticulously set the stage each year since 2008’s Iron Man — carefully bringing new characters into an overall continuity akin to what has been crafted in Marvel Comics since 1962 — Avengers: Infinity War is the undeniably awesome result of a shrewd master plan that only gained momentum during the past decade.

No doubt about it: This film is a comic book geek’s dream come true: bigger, better (in some ways) and badder (in other ways) than everything that has come before. Directors Anthony Russo and Joe Russo — allied with scripters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, along with the legion of Marvel Comics writers and artists acknowledged in the end credits — have wrought nothing less than dense cinematic myth-making on the scale of Star Trek and Star Wars.

(Needless to say, all of the above owe a huge debt to J.R.R. Tolkien and other veteran sci-fi and fantasy authors.)

Disclosure No. 1: Uninitiated mainstream viewers are likely to have no idea what the heck is going down. To be sure, the broad stroke is obvious: Big, bad Thanos (Josh Brolin, barely recognizable beneath impressive layers of costuming, make-up and CGI) must be stopped by just about everybody else. But the fine points are likely to be lost on anybody who hasn’t avidly devoured every Marvel Studios entry to this point.

Like — for example — why Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) and Steve Rogers/Captain American (Chris Evans) aren’t talking to each other. Or what U.S. Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross (William Hurt) has to do with that. Or why Thor and his fellow Asgardians are journeying between the stars in immense spacecraft. Or why Vision (Paul Bettany) and Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) are hiding in Scotland.

Or — most obviously — who the heck some of these characters even are.

12 Strong: An enthralling, fact-based war drama

12 Strong (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for war violence and profanity
By Derrick Bang

It’s easy to see why Jerry Bruckheimer and his co-producers were drawn to author/journalist Doug Stanton’s 2009 non-fiction best-seller. The title alone is an eyebrow-lifter:

Horse Soldiers: The Extraordinary Story of a Band of U.S. Soldiers Who Rode to Victory in Afghanistan.

Despite his best efforts, Capt. Mitch Nelson (Chris Hemsworth, left) has trouble gaining
the trust of Gen. Abdul Rashid Dostum (Navid Negahban), who doubts that such a
young American, who lacks "killer eyes," can become a true warrior.

Stanton’s book details the jaw-dropping, just-then-declassified exploits of the 12-man Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) 595 Green Berets team, one of the first American units sent to Afghanistan in the immediate wake of the 9/11 terrorist attack. (Bruckheimer obtained the book in galley format, prior to publication.)

This big-screen adaptation, saddled with the appropriately gung-ho title of 12 Strong, is a suspenseful and riveting depiction of the events that took place during the 23 days that the ODA 595 team was “in country.” Director Nicolai Fuglsig, scripters Ted Tally and Peter Craig, and a solid cast appropriately honor the actual men, while delivering a thoroughly entertaining film that frequently feels like a slice of old-style Hollywood, while building to one helluva climax.

Indeed, this film stands tall alongside “impossible odds” classics such as Seven Samurai, Blackhawk Down, Saving Private Ryan and, most particularly, 1964’s Zulu. The latter also focuses on the mis-matched resources — albeit the other way ’round — that prompted this famous on-site quote from Afghanistan’s Capt. Will Summers: “It was as if the Jetsons had met the Flintstones.”

Add more than a passing nod to Lawrence of Arabia, and you’ve got a genuinely awe-inspiring war epic.

Tally and Craig have changed the names, and no doubt other details have been amplified for cinematic impact. But the core mission, the manner in which it went down, and the outcome are impressively faithful, and why not? This saga was made for splashy, big-screen treatment.

The drama is anchored solidly by Chris Hemsworth, who has emerged as one of cinema’s most stalwart and charismatic actors. His rise is quite impressive: only six years since an attention-getting supporting turn in The Cabin in the Woods, and now sliding with equal persuasiveness from the comic book larkishness of Thor and Ghostbusters, to more serious dramatic fare such as In the Heart of the Sea and, now, 12 Strong.

We believe it, utterly, when one of Nelson’s men tells him, with complete sincerity, “I’d follow you anywhere.” Hemsworth’s Nelson radiates that level of command charisma.

Thor: Ragnarok — Thud and blunder

Thor: Ragnarok (2017) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for intense sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.3.17

Thor has succumbed to a case of the sillies.

Perhaps concerned by the grim sturm und drang that has turned so many recent superhero epics into dreary slogs, Marvel Studios has authorized a rather drastic realignment of its cinematic God of Thunder. They shifted too far in the opposite direction: The results here feel more like a new try-out team for Guardians of the Galaxy.

Having rather miraculously survived their first gladiatorial punch-out, Thor (Chris
Hemsworth) and the Hulk discover they've been forced to become unlikely roommates
in an oddly appointed cell.

Granted, the myth-specific costumes and flowery Shakespearean dialogue drew snickers in the first two Thor films, but they nonetheless let viewers know that none of it was to be taken seriously. The tone was light, particularly with respect to the sniping between Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and his half-brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston), whose villainy never was as dire as he would have preferred.

But Thor: Ragnarok is a full-blown comedy interrupted only occasionally by super-heroics, and that’s an unfortunate miscalculation. The film’s three credited writers — Eric Pearson, Craig Kyle and Christopher Yost — seem far more interested in replicating the playful banter and witty one-liners that were characteristic of 1930s and ’40s screwball comedies, little realizing that crafting such repartee, and making it sound organic, requires far more skill than is on display here.

Delivering such dialogue also demands a level of thespic skill that Hemsworth sadly lacks. Co-stars Cate Blanchett, Anthony Hopkins and Hiddleston have the acting background required to chew up the scenery, but Hemsworth is far outside his comfort zone. Too many of his line readings smack of desperation.

Worse yet, the core plot — highlighted by Blanchett’s marvelously malevolent über-villainess, Hela — gets sidetracked by an interminable second act that piles on the dumb-bunny gags. It’s sad to see Thor become an object of ridicule in his own series.

The film’s subtitle — ragnarok, also known in Norse mythology as “twilight of the gods” — refers to a final apocalyptic battle that (depending on interpretation) concludes with the destruction of the world, or the universe, or godly realms. For this story, the threat is to Thor’s ancestral home of Asgard, gateway to the “nine realms” that include Midgard (Earth).

Thor seems to have this threat well in hand during a prologue; he handily defeats Surtur, an immense fire demon who is the fabled harbinger of ragnarok. But Loki once again has been up to no good, back in Asgard, having usurped the throne and stripped their father Odin (Hopkins) of his magical power. In this weakened state, he’s no longer able to secure the enchanted prison that has long protected the nine realms from Hela (Blanchett), goddess of death ... and — surprise, surprise — Thor and Loki’s hitherto unknown older sister.

Ghostbusters: Don't bother to call

Ghostbusters (2016) • View trailer 
2.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for supernatural action and crude humor
By Derrick Bang 

It can be argued, with reasonable justification, that a film shouldn’t be remade unless one intends to deliver a new version that is superior to, or at least as good as, its predecessor.

The franchise busters behind this 21st century Ghostbusters failed in their mission.

With all of New York City under assault by legions of cranky phantasms, the Ghostbusters —
from left, Abby (Melissa McCarthy), Jillian (Kate McKinnon), Erin (Kristen Wiig) and Patty
(Leslie Jones) — suit up and ready their proton packs.

In every way that matters.

In theory, the gender switch is a delightful idea ... but only had it been accompanied by better material. It feels as if helmer Paul Feig and co-writer Katie Dippold believed that we’d be so charmed by the notion of women in those iconic uniforms, that we’d forgive the lackluster directing and clumsy, inadequate script. They didn’t even try.

The primary distinction involves tone. The 1984 original’s far-fetched premise notwithstanding, the guys took their work seriously; Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and Ernie Hudson gave solemn, even stern, line readings. That contrast — their earnestness, in the face of crazed circumstances — made the film hilarious. The humor was arch, not infantile.

The Aykroyd/Ramis script also was constructed with some care, and with adults in mind. In a film laden with great one-liners, none was funnier than Murray’s response to the possessed Sigourney Weaver, when she tried to seduce him by moaning, “I want you inside me.”

“No,” he replied, after a beat. “It sounds like you’ve got at least two or three people in there already.”

Nothing in this new film comes close to that level of sly humor; Feig’s preferred approach is the lazy, vulgar slapstick we see all too frequently these days. His cast most often behaves like the participants in a Saturday Night Live sketch, delivering isolated bits of (not very funny) business, with no thought to narrative continuity.

The 1984 film catered to all ages. This one’s for snickering, arrested adolescents. Which shouldn’t surprise us, given that Feig is the guy who, with Melissa McCarthy, inflicted us with The Heat and Spy.

And, as is the case with the recently released Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates, too much of the dialogue here feels forced and ad-libbed; that’s particularly true of McCarthy, who frequently flails about as if she has forgotten her lines, and can’t come up with a reasonable substitute. She (and Feig?) apparently believe this to be “characterization.”

It feels like desperation.

The Huntsman: Winter's War — Plenty of fantasy fun

The Huntsman: Winter's War (2016) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for fantasy action violence and brief sensuality
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.22.16

This one is leagues better than its predecessor.

2012’s Snow White and the Huntsman was overblown, overwrought and overlong: a textbook example of what happens when a first-time director gets in way over his head. I can’t imagine why such a neophyte was put in charge of a $170 million movie, and he certainly wasn’t helped by the trio of talentless hacks who delivered such a muddled, dreary script.

As Nion (Nick Frost, left) and Gryff (Rob Brydon, right) look on nervously, Eric (Chris
Hemsworth) finds an unusual, jewel-encrusted spear tip: a certain indication that nasty
goblins can't be too far away.

You know things are bad, when someone as talented as Charlize Theron gives a wretched performance: all shrieks and screams, with no emotional resonance whatsoever. That is always the director’s fault.

Given that the film deservedly tanked, with a U.S. box office gross of only $155 million, some might wonder why a sequel even crossed anybody’s mind. Ah, but Hollywood isn’t driven by domestic results any more. This leaden turkey reaped a global total of almost $400 million: more than enough to encourage the suits at Universal’s Black Tower to greenlight a follow-up.

Which — who would have thought? — turns out to be a pleasant surprise.

(Actually, ample precedent exists. As just one example, 1979’s Star Trek: The Motion(less) Picture was a bomb, whereas 1982’s Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan was sensational.)

Director Cedric Nicolas-Troyan’s new film has everything the first one lacked: characters we genuinely care about, and who interact well with each other; a satisfying balance between fantasy-laden peril and emotional angst; and — most of all — a welcome sense of humor. Nicolas-Troyan also understands that cast-of-thousands battle scenes are intrinsically boring, particularly when we don’t give a whit about any of the faceless warriors involved; his film concentrates on more intimate melees between the story’s core heroes and villains.

And here’s the irony: Nicolas-Troyan, best known as a behind-the-scenes special effects maestro, also is a first-time feature director ... and, quite clearly, far more talented than the previous film’s Rupert Sanders.

Nicolas-Troyan has much better help, as well: a vastly superior script from Evan Spiliotopoulos and Craig Mazin. Both clearly understand fantasy’s first golden rule: Everything must make sense, and remain consistent, within the confines of its own established parameters. You can’t just make stuff up, from one scene to the next; that’s the fastest route to audience disinterest.

In the Heart of the Sea: Waterlogged

In the Heart of the Sea (2015) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, startling violence and considerable peril
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.11.15

The ingredients are sure-fire: a fascinating, fact-based narrative; a plot that demands bravery and ghastly sacrifice by the men involved; a solid cast led by Chris Hemsworth, who makes ample use of his steely, blue-eyed resolve; and everything under the capable guidance of seasoned director Ron Howard.

Facing an undeniably vengeful attack by a massive white sperm whale, ship's first mate
Owen Chase (Chris Hemsworth, foreground right) does his best to protect his men.
Unfortunately, even he won't be able to prevent what's about to happen...

And yet, In the Heart of the Sea somehow fails to resonate. Too many of the characters are defined solely by one-dimensional tics; the storyline is completely predictable; and the interpersonal squabbles are the stuff of trite cliché, particularly the sniping between Hemsworth’s first mate, Owen Chase, and their ship’s inexperienced and incompetent captain, George Pollard (Benjamin Walker).

On top of which, the thoroughly pointless 3D effects, added after the fact, do no favors to the otherwise exemplary work by cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle. The entire film is too dark and frequently looks washed out: the inevitable results of poor post-production 3D processing.

Howard’s film too often feels like a routine Boy’s Own Adventure Saga, albeit one granted a first-class budget. Everybody hits their marks like a pro, but the result just isn’t very involving: nowhere near as riveting as, say, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, several big-screen versions of Mutiny on the Bounty, or even the many British TV episodes of Horatio Hornblower.

Scripters Charles Leavitt, Rick Jaff and Amanda Silver also play fast and loose with historical accuracy, despite basing their screenplay on Nathaniel Philbrick’s meticulously researched 2000 book, In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex, which in turn is based on two published accounts by men who survived the incident. The scripters cherry-picked some details, glossed over others, and most particularly “adjusted” both Chase and Pollard for melodramatic intensity.

Perhaps borrowing from a similar technique in 1997’s Titanic, the saga is recounted in flashback via a framing device that finds an aging Thomas Nickerson (Brendan Gleeson), long ago the Essex cabin boy, recounting these events to a certain Herman Melville (Ben Whishaw).

It’s a cute touch — and Gleeson and Whishaw display more acting chemistry than can be found in the film’s primary storyline — but it’s totally bogus. Although these events definitely helped inspire the 1851 publication of Moby-Dick, Melville wouldn’t have needed to approach Nickerson for “the truth of the matter.” Chase’s own account of the tragedy was published in 1821, shortly after his rescue and return to his home in Nantucket.

Ah, well. Picky, picky, picky, right?