2.5 stars. Rating: PG-13, for intense fantasy violence and action, and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang
Every time I endure a clumsy
fantasy such as this one, I’m reminded of what a rare and wonderful creature
television’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer
was, during its run from 1997 through 2003.
 |
| Our so-called heroine is Clary (Lily Collins), the one cowering at the far right. Despite some intriguing powers, she's pretty useless in a fight, unlike her new colleague Isabelle (Jemima West), every inch a gritty warrior. Goodness, even Clary's longtime — and fully human — friend Simon (Robert Sheehan), despite his constant terror, is more resourceful. |
Which is to say, I’m reminded of
the care that Buffy creator Joss
Whedon took, with respect to characters, plotlines and — most essential of all
— tone. Buffy was droll without being
stupid, and Whedon and his fellow writers rigorously obeyed the rules that had
been set forth, sometimes years earlier.
And if characters developed a
fondness for each other — sometimes pairing off in highly unexpected fashion —
they did so reasonably maturely (well, allowing for the crazed parameters of
the show’s universe, anyway). They behaved like strong, self-assured and
intelligent young adults. Most of the time. When not driven by ill-advised
impulses ... but, even then, we rarely rolled our eyes in scorn.
Whedon respected us, as viewers.
In great contrast, director
Harald Zwart and scripter Jessica Postigo don’t respect us at all, with their
big-screen adaptation of The Mortal
Instruments: City of Bones. It’s the epitome of a dumb fantasy, and its
core characters — male or female — behave, at all times, like puerile little
girls with absolutely no control over their emotions.
Which begs the question: What is
this film’s target audience? The violence and monsters are too vicious for
8-year-olds, but the material and tone are too juvenile for older tweens and
teens.
I hoped, going in, that this film
would be a gender-flipped Harry Potter clone, with a stalwart female lead whom
viewers could embrace. Instead, Zwart borrows much more heavily from the long-suffering
sighs, pouty expressions and moronic motivations typical of the Twilight series. Our so-called heroine,
Clary, simply isn’t worthy. And if our mortal realm honestly depends on her —
and her hormones-in-hyperdrive “Scooby gang” — for survival, then we’re all in
a lotta trouble.
Zwart’s film is based on the
young adult fantasy series by Cassandra Clare (actually a nom de plume for Judith Rumelt), currently up to six books and
counting. I’m not familiar with the books, and therefore unsure who to blame
for this film’s breathlessly melodramatic tone. Perhaps Postigo made the best
of what she was given, in which case Clare’s young readers deserve better.
