Jurassic World: Rebirth: It's deja vu all over again

Jurassic World: Rebirth (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for intense action violence, bloody images, mild profanity and a fleeting drug reference

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.6.25

The formula is tried and true, and this sci-fi thriller is a heckuva rollercoaster ride for those who’ve never seen more than one or two previous franchise entries.

 

Teresa (Luna Blaise, foreground) cautiously approaches a deserted supply pod, while
her companions — from left, Isabella (Audrina Miranda), Reuben (Manuel
Garcia-Rulfo) and Xavier (Davis Iacono) — wait with mounting anxiety.

(During one well-staged moment of peril, at Monday evening’s Sacramento preview screening, I feared the woman seated in front of us would have a heart attack. I’ve never heard anybody shriek so loud, or for so long, in a movie theater.)

As I noted, when reviewing 2018’s Fallen Kingdom, the essential elements never change:

 

Stalwart heroes: check. Well-meaning scientist(s) with ideals shattered: check. A soulless corporate villain: check. One (and only one) comic relief character: check. A child — or children — in peril: check.

 

Plenty of unexpected appearances and jump-attacks by swiftly moving dinosaurs: check-check-check.

 

All that said...

 

I have seen all six previous entries, and the formula has become trite to the point of cliché. Scripter David Koepp, generally a solid and skilled writer, took the paycheck and phoned this one in. Every step of this film feels like an inferior remake of 1993’s franchise-spawning first film, which had the strong benefit of having been adapted from Michael Crichton’s page-turning novel.

 

Alas, several of the characters here are wafer-thin, to the point where it’s easy to predict who will become dino chow, and who will survive. Indeed, given the amount of initial screen time, personality and back-story granted each of the 11 key players, I also nailed the order in which they’d perish. That’s just sloppy writing.

 

Half the time I was rooting for the dinosaurs...

 

In fairness, though, director Gareth Edwards, editor Jabez Olssen and the amazing special-effects team do a masterful job of generating the most excitement possible. The primary cast members, and their likable performances, make it easier to forgive the script’s shortcomings.

 

To cases:

 

A brief prologue reveals that a new crop of bunny-suited InGen scientists and genetic engineers, having learned nothing from previous catastrophes, continues to stubbornly develop ever-more-dangerous hybrid dinosaurs. Big surprise: Something goes awry.

 

I Used to Be Famous: Hits the right notes

I Used to Be Famous (2022) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated TV-14, for occasional profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Peaking early can be a terrible curse.

 

Back in the early uh-ohs, Vince lived large as the front man of an über-famous teenage boy band, Stereo Dream.

 

Vince (Ed Skrein, left) handles the melody on his portable keyboard, while Stevie
(Leo Long) joyfully maintains a steady beat on a "drum set" made of found objects.

Alas, he lacked the talent to survive the transition to adulthood.

Flash-forward to today, which finds Vince (Ed Skrein) scrambling for a living in the streets of Peckham, dragging his music kit behind him on a modified ironing board (a suitably pathetic visual touch). And to rub salt in the wound, former band mate Austin (Eoin Macken) did have the artistic chops for a wildly successful solo career: a constant reminder of the life Vince desperately wishes he could have.

 

Then, one day, Vince’s busking efforts are interrupted — nay, complemented — by a shy young man beating his drumsticks in time to the music. Vince soon learns that this is Stevie (Leo Long), a mildly autistic lad carefully monitored by his protective mother, Amber (Eleanor Matsuura).

 

Vince immediately (rashly?) believes that Stevie might be the “secret sauce” that could turn them into a successful two-man act. Amber, mindful of her son’s inability to handle being the center of attention, has her doubts.

 

Matters aren’t helped by the fact that the disheveled Vince has the diplomatic subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

 

Director/co-writer Eddie Sternberg’s sweet little film, expanded from his 17-minute 2015 short subject of the same title, offers no surprises; the story, co-written with Zak Klein, is fairly predictable (albeit with a poignant third-act twist).

 

That said, the tone and approach are as earnest as all three lead actors; it’s also nice to see a story that depicts autism with respect and compassion. Credit for this, in great part, goes to Long: neurodivergent in real life, and both an accomplished drummer and quietly persuasive actor.

 

The drama emerges from the credibly endearing manner in which both Vince and Stevie struggle to become better versions of themselves.

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil — Maladroit

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil (2019) • View trailer 
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.

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.

Alita: Battle Angel — Exciting futuristic thrills

Alita: Battle Angel (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, and quite generously, despite relentless violence and gore
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.15.19

When we get sci-fi world-building on a scale this visually spectacular, there’s no doubt that James Cameron must be involved.

Hugo (Keean Johnson) rushes forward, hoping to prevent a catastrophe, when a
potentially violent encounter prompts Alita's (Rosa Salazar) battle instincts to kick in.

In fairness, director Robert Rodriguez deserves equal credit for this energetic, post-apocalyptic adventure. Where Cameron’s epics generally have a serious tone with underlying real-world political elements, Rodriguez is more willing to just have a good time. That’s certainly the case with Alita: Battle Angel, which sometimes displays the youthful, wide-eyed breathlessness that was typical of his Spy Kids series.

But we must remember that Rodriguez also is the gritty, down ’n’ dirty maestro behind From Dusk Till Dawn and the Sin City chillers, and he stretches this new film’s PG-13 rating waypast the breaking point.

Alita: Battle Angel is a Frankenstein’s monster of a movie, which successfully blends elements from previous classics: a little bit of 1975’s Rollerball, a taste of 1982’s Blade Runner, a soupçon of 2013’s Elysium and a whole lotta 2001’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence. Considerable credit also goes to Yukito Kishiro, creator of the 1990 cyberpunk manga series Gunnm(translated on these shores as Battle Angel Alita). Kishiro’s series ultimately went to nine volumes, after which Cameron optioned the property … way back in 2000.

Although originally intending to direct a big-screen adaptation, Cameron got distracted by Avatar; meanwhile, he “borrowed” some of Kishiro’s concepts for the 2000-02 TV series Dark Angel, which made a star of young Jessica Alba. Numerous twists and turns later — notably, after Rodriguez was brought in, initially just to trim Cameron’s overlong screenplay — all the elements fell into place, and here we are.

We should be grateful for this long gestation, because it allowed special effects technology to catch up with Kishiro’s wildly imaginative premise and setting. Senior visual effects supervisor Joe Letteri and production designers Caylah Eddleblute and Steve Joyner have delivered a jaw-dropping degree of futuristic wonder: a wholly immersive dystopian setting that feels persuasively authentic, down to the tiniest detail.

Rodriguez also makes excellent use of Bill Pope’s 3D cinematography. You’ll want to experience this film at least twice: once for its exciting, pell-mell storyline; the second time to better appreciate the meticulous effort that has gone into every frame.

Mind you, elements of the complex plot are insufficiently addressed by the script — credited to Cameron, Rodriguez and Laeta Kalogridis (the latter known as the creator of TV’s Altered Carbon) — but Rodriguez and editors Stephen E. Rivkin and Ian Silverstein maintain enough momentum to carry us past dangling questions.

Deadpool: Gleefully revolting

Deadpool (2016) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for strong violence, gore, relentless profanity, sexual content and graphic nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.12.16

This is a flick for folks who felt the Kick-Ass movies weren’t violent enough.

And those who believe that Melissa McCarthy and Amy Schumer could be more potty-mouthed, if they worked harder at it.

Much to the disgust of companions Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand)
and Colossus, and moments before facing dozens of gun-toting thugs, Deadpool (Ryan
Reynolds) addresses his audience directly, to discuss precisely how silly everything
has been, up to this moment.

Which is to say, Deadpool is outrageously smutty, profane and gory: about as far from the usually family-friendly Marvel Universe movies as could be imagined. It’s another of those merrily anarchic Hollywood projects that makes ultra-conservatives fret about the end of Western Civilization as we know it.

It’s also rather funny at times, in a tasteless, dark-humor sort of way. But only at times; the shtick wears thin rapidly. Not even Ryan Reynolds can hold our interest with 108 minutes of nonstop mugging and smart-assery. Although — give him credit — he makes a game effort.

The character has an odd history in Marvel’s comic book world, having been introduced in the early 1990s as a villain in various X-Men titles. He gradually morphed into an amoral antihero with a back-story as an unscrupulous mercenary for hire, eventually granted the mutant power of accelerated healing at the cellular level.

Meaning, he can’t be killed in the usual sense. Bullets perforating his body, a knife to the head ... no problem. Hack off a limb, and it regenerates, like a lizard’s tail.

You can imagine what today’s unrestrained special effects wizards can make of that gimmick ... and director Tim Miller — a CGI/VFX designer/producer making his feature directorial debut here — is just the guy to orchestrate the requisite mayhem.

But messy invulnerability isn’t Deadpool’s primary characteristic; he’s best known for his refusal to acknowledge his role as a member of the tightly plotted Marvel Universe. Deadpool knows that he’s a comic book character; he frequently breaks the fourth wall and addresses the readers, or indulges in arguments with the writers who concoct his word balloons.

In that sense, Deadpool is a smug and sassy, 21st century update of Marvel's equally cynical 1970s icon, Howard the Duck. Deadpool also upsets the “regular” Marvel superheroes, who can’t be their usual, carefully scripted selves with this loose cannon shredding the pages.

I’m also reminded of Jasper Fforde’s marvelously whimsical novels, with heroine Thursday Next as a “literary detective” who can jump into classic books, interact with their characters, and even change the endings of stories we know and love. Except that, well, Deadpool is a lot nastier. And more callous. And unapologetically juvenile.

And ... you get the idea.