The Lion King: More of a whimper than a roar

The Lion King (2019) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated PG, for dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang

It’s difficult to view this film as anything but a cynical cash grab.

Cruelly tricked into believing that he has committed an unspeakable act, the forlorn
lion cub Simba's spirits are lifted when he unexpectedly befriends a warthog (Pumbaa)
and a meerkat (Timon).

Disney has been cannibalizing its legacy of late, and the results are increasingly deplorable. Bad enough that we had to endure (mostly) live-action remakes of Dumbo and Aladdin earlier this year; at least they’re populated mostly by human characters who could be given fresh interpretations by flesh-and-blood actors (as will be the case with a live-action Mulan, arriving next year).

But The Lion King is different: nothing more than “trading up” an entirely non-human cast from (more or less) traditional animation to CGI. To what end? Animation is animation. The opulent, Tony Award-winning Broadway production was highlighted by Julie Taymor’s costume design and inventive direction, Richard Hudson’s scenic design, and Garth Fagan’s choreography … none of which translates to this animated retread.

And, as was the case with Aladdin, this Lion King has been expanded from the 1994 original’s just-right 88 minutes, to a bloated and often insufferable 118 minutes. That additional half-hour adds nothing to the story, aside from granting director Jon Favreau more space for portentously long takes apparently intended to amplify the drama.

In fact, such lengthy pauses make the film seem like more of a drag.

In fairness, the animation is stunning:  a collaborative effort by visual effects supervisor Rob Legato, animation supervisor Andrew R. Jones, and MPC Film VFX supervisors Adam Valdez and Elliot Newman. It’s not merely a pride of lions looking and moving in a lifelike manner; this story has a massive cast of four-legged and winged characters, not to mention sidebar insects, reptiles and all manner of other critters.

The verisimilitude is breathtaking … and that’s part of the problem. Because it frankly looks weird when these creatures break into song. The talking is disorienting enough, but at least that’s subtle; watching the mouths of a lifelike lion, warthog and meerkat wrap their lips around the lyrics of “Hakuna Matata” utterly destroys the illusion.

Solo: A rip-snortin' space adventure

Solo (2018) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.25.18

Among this film’s back-story revelations, large and small, the one that raises the quickest smile is the origin of Han Solo’s name.

Not yet at home: Han (Alden Ehrenreich, center) reluctantly sits back while Lando
(Donald Glover) and the overly chatty L3-37 pilot the Millennium Falcon to their
next destination.

I’d expect no less from a script co-authored by Lawrence Kasdan, who — let us not forget — collaborated with sci-fi legend Leigh Brackett on 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back, arguably still the best of all Star Wars films.

Lawrence and his son Jonathan share writing duties on Solo: A Star Wars Story, which tells the origin (more or less) of the lovable rogue who introduced himself to Luke Skywalker by sliding behind a table at the Mos Eisley cantina, pointing to himself and saying, “Han Solo. I’m captain of the Millennium Falcon.”

Rather plain-vanilla, as character debuts come. How could we have known?

Solo joins 2016’s Rogue One as another side story that “fills in the cracks” between episodes of the primary Star Wars mythos. Unlike that earlier film, though, Solo clearly marks the beginning of its own two- or three-film franchise, given that it concludes quite neatly by dovetailing with a character from 1999’s The Phantom Menace.

Meanwhile, director Ron Howard’s Solo is a thoroughly engaging — and frequently suspenseful — depiction of the people and events that will shape Han into the lone wolf-turned-rebel hero who proves so important in the battle against the evil Empire.

Well, not entirely lone wolf. Kasdan père et fils also supply origin stories for Chewbacca, Lando Calrissian and even the Millennium Falcon’s holochess game.

Fans couldn’t ask for more.

As always is the case with the best Star Wars films, this one hits the ground running: Young Han (Alden Ehrenreich) and his girlfriend Qi’ra (Emilia Clarke) do their best to escape the Dickensian White Worm Syndicate on Corellia, where they’re in thrall to a rather disgusting, otherworldly Fagin dubbed Lady Proxima (and voiced by Linda Hunt). This hell-for-leather opening concludes with Han — having no other choice — joining the galaxy-cleansing Empire as a foot soldier.

Spider-Man: Homecoming — A tangled web

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for sci-fi action and violence, and mild profanity
By Derrick Bang

It’s both ironic and yet appropriate that this newest incarnation of Spider-Man — let’s call it Spider-Man 3.0 — works best when young Peter Parker is out of costume.

Try as he might, Peter (Tom Holland) can't seem to make things work properly ... either
in his personal life, or as the web-slinging would-be hero, Spider-Man.

As originally conceived by writer Stan Lee and artist Steve Ditko, way back in 1962, Peter was an angst-ridden high school outcast: a nerd long before that word became a fashionable descriptor. Eternally abused by campus tormentor Flash Thompson, ignored by all the cool kids, Peter took solace from his scientific curiosity and the protective embrace of home life with his beloved Uncle Ben and Aunt May.

British actor Tom Holland — so powerful as the eldest son forced to help his family cope with a tsunami’s aftermath, in 2012’s The Impossible — persuasively nails this all-essential aspect of Peter’s personality. He has a ready smile that falters at the faintest slight, real or imagined; he’s all gangly limbs and unchecked, hyperactive eagerness. Peter frequently doesn’t know how to handle himself, because he doesn’t yet possess a strong sense of what his “self” actually is.

That said, director/co-scripter Jon Watts’ update of Peter gives the lad a firmer social grounding that he possessed in all those early Marvel comic books. He’s a valued member of his school’s academic decathlon squad, where he’s routinely thrust alongside teammates Flash (Tony Revolori), crush-from-a-distance Liz (Laura Harrier) and the aloof, slightly mysterious Michelle (Zendaya, the effervescent star of TV’s engaging K.C. Undercover).

And — oh, yes — Peter is a-bubble with enthusiasm over the secret he cannot share with anyone: his recent trip to Berlin, supposedly as a science intern for Stark Enterprises, but where he actually joined Iron Man and other super-powered associates and went mano a mano against Captain America (recent back-story details supplied via a clever flashback).

Impetuously assuming that he’ll therefore be made a member of the Avengers, Peter is chagrined when days and weeks pass without a word from Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) or his right-hand man, Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau). I mean, Spidey deflected Captain America’s shield, right? What the heck is Tony waiting for?

Retrieving stolen bicycles and helping little old ladies may establish cred as “your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” but it hardly stacks up against saving the world from super-powered bad guys. Peter chafes at being abandoned on the sidelines, and thus makes the mistake that Stark anticipated.

Wholly contrary to the essential divide between civilian and costumed life, Peter begins to employ his alter-ego as a crutch: a means to enhance his social status.

“But I’m nothing without the costume,” he eventually wails, in genuine torment, to Tony.

“If that’s true,” Tony replies, “then you don’t deserve it.”

The Martian: Out-of-this-world suspense

The Martian (2015) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for profanity and brief nudity
By Derrick Bang

The most impressive aspect of 1995’s Apollo 13 lay in the tension that director Ron Howard generated, despite our certain awareness of the film’s outcome.

After all, history had spoken: Everybody knew that the astronauts got back safely. So, since Howard couldn’t concoct any suspense from the what, he concentrated on the how ... as in, how in the world did they survive?

Having realized that his only hope for survival involves the long-term rationing of his
supplies — along with figuring out some what of "creating" more food and water — Mark
(Matt Damon) begins a careful record of his days on Mars.

There’s something enticingly absorbing about watching engineers work a particularly difficult problem. In the realm of fiction, this is why caper thrillers and the Mission: Impossible franchise remain so popular: We love to see unworkable puzzles solved via triumphant bursts of ingenuity.

No surprise, then, that director Ridley Scott’s handling of The Martian is 141 minutes of nail-biting anxiety. Andy Weir’s 2011 novel (which has its own amazing history) is a crackerjack sci-fi thriller to begin with, and Scott and scripter Drew Goddard have pumped it up with an engaging blend of quiet agitation and gallows humor.

Best of all, this is smart science-fiction: a rigorously technical narrative that we rarely get from a Hollywood factory that equates the genre with the zap-gun antics of Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy (which, let’s face it, are — at best — equal parts sci-fi and fantasy). In the literary realm, Weir’s book is regarded as “hard” science of the sort written by Isaac Asimov, Larry Niven and Kim Stanley Robinson.

Such stories are harder to bring to the big screen, because they don’t grant actors many opportunities for showboating or melodramatic interpersonal dynamics. But exceptions do exist — 2009’s Moon comes to mind — and if Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman can generate unease from plodding investigative journalism, then surely talented filmmakers can do the same with a clever sci-fi premise. Right?

Indeed. To give further credit where due, Scott has packed his film with an impressive cast, assigning strong actors to even the smallest of roles. Top marks go to star Matt Damon, who anchors most of the film with a compelling, deeply expressive, one-man performance on par with what we’ve seen from Tom Hanks (Cast Away) and Robert Redford (All Is Lost).

The story, then:

The time is an unspecified point in the near future, after NASA has successfully sent a six-person mission to Mars. The Ares 3 crew has established a good-sized working habitat within the Acidalia Planitia plain, and has spent some number of days collecting samples and conducting experiments.

The Lazarus Effect: Dead on arrival

The Lazarus Effect (2015) • View trailer 
One star. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, horror violence and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang

This is what passes for scary these days?

This laughable, ludicrous swill?

Modern audiences are getting very short-changed.

With his suddenly homicidal fiancée prowling the darkened corridors outside their lab,
Frank (Mark Duplass) cautions Eva (Sarah Bolger) to stay quiet, while he concocts a
silly plan to save the day.

This flaccid rubbish is bad in so many ways, one scarcely knows where to begin. Luke Dawson and Jeremy Slater’s irrationally asinine script? David Gelb’s artless, hammer-handed directing? The cast of blithering idiots who couldn’t inject credibility into their dialogue if their lives depended on it?

In fairness, bad line readings aren’t entirely the fault of the cast; nobody could have made this clumsy nonsense sound persuasive. That said, the performances also don’t deserve placement on anybody’s résumé.

At its core, this is just another sloppy re-tread of the hoary Frankenstein saga, with bioengineered chemicals taking the place of good ol’ lightning. This, too, is part of the problem; Dawson and Slater haven’t an original thought between them, and seem content to blatantly rip off vastly superior predecessors.

And they can’t even do that well.

Frank (Mark Duplass) and his fiancée Zoe (Olivia Wilde), running a research lab at a fictitious, Berkeley-based university, are being assisted by graduate students Niko (Donald Glover) and Clay (Evan Peters). The team recently has hired an undergraduate videographer, Eva (Sarah Bolger), to record their progress.

(One cliché of bad writing, by the way, is the affectation of granting people no more than first names: Nothing calls faster attention to wafer-thin, one-dimensional characters.)

Although Eva’s presence gives Gelb an excuse to dabble in “found footage”-style video inserts, this affectation — mercifully — quickly is replaced by Michael Fimognari’s conventional cinematography. Which, to be fair, is a point in Gelb’s favor.

Anyway...

Frank and Zoe apparently obtained their original grant to develop a chemical “boost” that would help revive patients who code on an operating table: something akin to adrenalin or defibrillation. Somewhere along the way, though, they began attempting to resurrect deceased animals with their gloppy white formula; they finally succeed with a dog named Rocky.

Champagne all around.

But Rocky has come back ... ah ... different: warier, stronger and more aggressive. (Cue strong memories of Stephen King’s vastly superior Pet Sematary ... and I mean the book, not the lousy 1989 film adaptation.) Clay spouts the pseudo-scientific gibberish that “explains” this transformation: Thanks to the injected glop, Rocky’s brain is building massive neural networks, moving well past the usual limits of his species. Or some such nonsense.

Not sure why that would make him so violent, but hey, I’m no brain surgeon. (Neither is anybody in this movie. Obviously.)