Fantastic Four (2015)

With its over-long look inside 5^th grade life to the tacked-on CGI-heavy finale, the latest big-screen version of Marvel stalwart “Fantastic Four” is a joyless, suspense-free dud from frame one. Oh, there have been worse superhero film appearances on the big screen.

But never one so lazy. Never one so dedicated to being mediocre. This is a superhero film with exactly one action scene. A crammed, confusing limp punch that fails to ignite the pure joy of cracking open a comic book spine and digging those panel jumps.

Not a single vibe of geekery hit my veins. 

Nothing hit me. Except fatigue of superheroes on film and battles to save Earth and huge craters, and I say that as a massive comic book nerd of old. Indifference is the word. 

I pitied the actors. I pitied the production crew who must have busted ass, to no avail. I didn’t pity director Josh Trank, who publicly disowned the film opening night. The faults start quick, not at the end where he says the film went all wrong, out of his hands. 

Plot: Our four heroes -– high school students, in a change up from the original comic -- gain incredible powers when a scientific experiment involving inter-dimensional travel goes wrong. Miles Teller’s Reed Richard stretches, Kate Mara’s Sue Storm turns invisible, Michael B. Jordan’s Johnny Storm bursts into flame, and Jamie Bell’s Ben Grimm turns into a rock monster. Each power seems tied to personality trait. Reed’s smarter-than-everyone else nerd is stretched, see? Ben is a tough guy, all rock and closed off feeling. Johnny is a hot head. Traits. These aren’t fleshed-out characters. 

Only vague ideas.

I collected the book for a while and loved it. This reboot, following two other attempts within the past 10 years, reminded me why some printed material cannot go to the live screen. Here, Reed is a boring smug character. Sue? Boring. And not just here, but in the earlier films as well. Boring. (Storm as Human Torch and Grimm as The Thing do hold some interest. But they get short-shifted on screen. To the point of awkward hilarity.)

The whole smart outsider thing is too cliché now to even make a dent. Not when nerds can push a film toward $1 billion, hello “Avengers,” or stay home and kill a studio’s entire fiscal year, oh, hey, this movie. The “Avengers” movies saddle its heroes with woes, their heroic acts landed. This lot sulks by. Or maybe the books would read dull to me now.

The actors can’t fill the void. Not the paper-thin parts, the dull action, nor the forced relationships. Sue and Johnny are adopted brother and sister, Reed and Ben are best pals since childhood; they all whiff of people who don’t even keep in touch on Facebook. 

(Sue isn’t even allowed to make the big leap to that extra-dimensional Earth. It’s a boy’s only party. That’s less progressive than even 1961, when the comic book started. Think about that. She gets her powers when the guys return and ... how the hell?!?!?!) 

The setting is too constrained. In the books, New York City was the heroes’ playground. I loved that, being a city kid. Near every moment here takes pace in an underground bunker that makes Sam’s Club seem like heaven; or an alternate, unformed Earth –- green screen set -– that I can find on any low-ball episode of “Doctor Who.” Trank strangles his characters in every scene with shit lighting and low ceilings, and all CGI everything else. 

Post powers, half the film focuses on a Big Brother O'Brien U.S. military type (Tim Blake Nelson) sending Thing -- that's Ben -- out to attack enemies. We see on monitors this Hulk-like beast of rocks tearing tanks apart and throwing enemy combatants around, who are they? Does Ben get a thrill from this action? Does he hate it? No idea. We never get a close up. This is the product of studio managers who gave up on the film midway through.

Woe Toby Kebbell -– dig him in last year’s “Apes” movie, he is excellent -- as Victor Von Doom, one of Marvel’s best villains, reduced here to an angry geek who’s just discovered Rage Against the Machine lyrics. And maybe retweets Anonymous. On a bad day. 

Lost on that first inter-dimensional trip and thought dead, his absence from the screen is so I stopped caring. When he *finally* appears as a metalized maniac with every power Trank and his writers can throw on screen, screw continuity, Doom has nothing to offer. His look is ridiculous, a rigid metal/plastic face with bulging blank eyes, his voice dubbed in, all ringing a bad 80s film, maybe “Superman III.” That lady robot at the end? Crap.

Add in glaringly bad editing and on-screen errors (blonde wigs!) and this is a doomed film on every level, and no amount of studio/actor spin can save it. It is a dud. Watch that finale, listen to Teller's voice, struggling to sell lines such as “We have to stop him!”  and babble on about “we are stronger together.” He cannot sell it. Look at that panic. 

Several years back, Trank made the rousing low-budget “FF”-inspired “Chronicle.” It followed four different, desperate high school boys with new-found super powers. Not a best-of moment here equals any of that film’s worst-of moments. Is he a one shot wonder, did the studio kill him, or is the material just not workable in 2015? I have no idea. There is zero vision or voice or even clarity here, and that has to fall on his head.

Can we guess how soon the next reboot “FF” is coming?  D

Leon, a.k.a., The Professional (1994) and The Fifth Element (1997)

Director Luc Besson was ambitious during the 1990s, hot off his French hit “La Femme Nikita,” about a troubled woman trained to become an assassin back when such ideas were, “Whoa, who woulda thunk?” (Recall, this was long before the silly “Lucy.”

“Leon” –- known in the U.S. as “The Professional” –- offers a spin on that as a 12-year-old NYC girl (Natalie Portma, in her debut) is taken in by a hitman (Jean Reno) after her uncaring, vile family is murdered by DEA thugs. She mourns only her toddler brother. Gary Oldman is the head DEA agent, an evil freak who pops Quaaludes like chocolate. Young Matoilda wants to learn the assassin trade to kill Oldman and his badged thugs. Leon reluctantly agrees. But Matilda is troubled as she mistakes adoration for a fatherly figure for sexual attraction. In a huge misstep, Besson introduces this dynamic and then runs away from it. He opts for massive, very artsy gunplay instead, and it is wildly entertaining, the entire long climax involving Leon and every cop in the city. My college pals all loved the film, but I still find it a bit too loose for its own good. Oldman’s cop is far more amusing than dangerous. Put this guy up against any Joe Pesci character from the era, he’d fold like pancake batter. Reno has never been better. And I knew back then Portman was something to behold: Tragic, funny, confused, angry; she amazes. B

 “Fifth Element” gleefully torches any set standard. Oldman returns as the villain, doing a twisted take on -– I gather -– Marvin the Martian as an arms dealer out to steal precious alien stones that could save Earth from annihilation. Oldman’s Jean-Baptiste Emmanuel Zorg (awesome name!) insists he’ll make money off the ensuing chaos. A Republican? No matter. He’s up against Bruce Willis as Korben Dallas, ex-soldier turned cab driver in 23rd century Brooklyn. By winking coincidence, Korben has stumbled on Earth’s new savior, a fiery ginger head named Leeloo (Milla Jovovich). Part action/comedy, “Firth” is a love letter to “Star Wars” and “Blade Runner” -– both made when Besson was a teen. He spills references -- Leia hair buns, a familiar brown robe, and Brion James (RIP) – so fast, they fly by. “Fifth” also is a must for oddball film score buffs, thank you, Eric Serra. The best joke: Willis’ hero and Oldman’s villain never meet, separated by the most (purposefully) contrived circumstances. VIP is Chris Tucker as an androgynous DJ who ends up narrating the action. Some found his Ruby Rhod a disaster, I love the WTF attitude of him (her?). A-

True Lies (1994)

I loved James Cameron’s “True Lies” when I saw it in a Philadelphia cinema 21 years ago with a friend. I cheered the openly tongue-in-cheek story and action as Arnold Schwarzenegger as a secret U.S. spy demolishes Middle Eastern terrorists in downtown Miami, the fanatics threatening to destroy the city with a stolen nuclear warhead. In a scene still spectacular Ahnuld flies a Harrier jet up against a skyscraper and kills a villain with a ride on a missile. But, damn, this is an ugly sexist film. See, I was a very naïve 20 year old in 1994. Now I cringe at the entire midsection which has Schwarzenegger’s Harry Tasker going rage as he suspects his dumb, hapless wife (Jamie Lee Curtis) of cheating on him; him, a guy who’s done nothing but lie to her for two decades. See, Cameron has our hero kidnap and then psychologically torture the woman until she admits in fact she has committed no sin against her husband. (If she had!?!) Cameron seems to know his writing is vile. Side characters offer admonishments, almost as sideline commentary. But it still smacks of, “Keep watching. Keep laughing!” Cameron’s worst film. _­C+

The Road Warrior, a.k.a. Mad Max 2 (1981)

Still on a high from “Mad Max: Fury Road,” I caught George Miller’s “The Road Warrior” on TV, my first viewing in maybe two decades. Here, the world is spiraling toward the wasteland seen in “Beyond Thunderdome,” and the greatest commodity again is fuel. The only human need is to get the hell out to someplace else. Max –- still Mel Gibson, a remarkable actor of barely hidden rage –- reluctantly joins forces with a ragtag group of survivors who run a makeshift oil rig in the Outback desert, and are under attack from rampaging looters. Max drives the action here, figuratively and literally, as he takes the wheel of car and bus. The ending is too abrupt, as if money ran out, but the action is intense even if paling in comparison to the new film. That’s OK. Tech constraints. Imagine if Miller has today’s digital cameras 34 years ago. A-

Gimme Shelter (1970)

The Rolling Stones had an excellent 1969 with “Let it Bleed” and a tour that brought in Ike and Tina Turner, but all that good will and good weed and good sex flamed out at the FUBAR free concert at Altamont in San Francisco. Thousands of drugged-out hippies clashed with drugged-out Hell’s Angels, who the Stones foolishly paid for security, and wild mayhem ensued. Murders, too. Doc-maker brothers Albert and David Maysles and their crew literally *filmed* a man being stabbed to death, the mayhem so wild, they didn’t know it at the time. The Stones – Jagger, Richards, etc. – don’t say much, but they don’t have to. A “fan” punched Jagger in the face before he ever got on stage. Members of Jefferson Airplane were attacked by Angles, too drugged out to realize the warm-up band on stage belonged on the stage. The entire film is vibes raw, from early-69 studio recordings to the Stones fleeing the stage, terrified. A

Hercules (2014)

Some sons of god can’t catch a break. Despite his name and rep, Hercules – son of Zeus – is weak on film. Twice in a row. Early in 2014 we got SyFy-worthy “Legend of Hercules,” a bargain-bin film that underwhelmed even the lowest expectation. Now I finally caught “Hercules” – starring Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and boasting Brett Ratner (“X-Men 3”) at the helm with a $100+ million budget – and it also is a resoundingly limp flick. Ugly CGI, flat characters, a pedestrian plot that makes H into a human mercenary with a heart of gold (boring!) but the brains of a dumb puppy, I sat stupefied that adults made this film. A hammy John Hurt –- the only reason to watch -- gets to scream, “Release the wolves!” Ratner and his crap writers want us to think Kraken, “Clash of the Titans,” I thought Hounds, “The Simpsons.” D

The Night of the Hunter (1955)

My Absolute Favorite Film has a new calling card. “The Night of the Hunter” is a stark black-and-white Southern gothic horror about a serial killer preacher (Robert Mitchum) who sets his demonic eyes on a widow (Shelley Winters) and her children (Billy Chapin and Sally Jane Bruce) as he seeks stolen money. Mitchum’s Rev. Harry Powell is film’s greatest villain, a singer of hymns who talks to God, assured his evil deeds are natural. “There’s plenty of killings in your book.” The genius realization: Charles Laughton directs this masterpiece for the child in us all, especially those of us who when young were suspicious of all those churchy smiles. “Hunter” is a child’s worst nightmare: Rooms boast crazed geometric shapes, wild animals loom gigantic, mother dies, rivers flow backward, and streetlamps throw evil shadows on walls. Mitchum’s preacher -- one hand tattooed LOVE, the other marked HATE -- turns faith into a war on every innocent soul. If the final closing words of reassurance from Lilian Gish’s kindly matriarch go on too long, it is not for the benefit of the terrified, surviving children on screen, but us in the audience. An absolute perfect marvel for soul, heart, and mind. A+

Wet Hot American Summer (2001)

A good friend has egged me on for years to watch “Wet Hot American Summer,” a 2001 send-up of 1980s summer camp films that is splendidly offensive and dead-on, not just of every “Porky’s” type film ever made, but camping in general, and being a dumb ass teen. The movie sports early-career Bradley Cooper, Amy Poehler, and Paul Rudd, along with Janeane Garafalo, David Hyde Pierce, and Molly Shannon. Like the very best satires, “Wet” smashes the fourth wall and plays with the audience directly. My favorite scene is a throw away: The camp baseball team forfeits the big final game because it will only end in cliché, the underdogs beating the snotty rich kids down a ways. I laughed my ass off. A-

Batman (1989)

I saw Tim Burton’s highly anticipated “Batman” on opening night, in Philadelphia. I loved it, despite the early warning of Michael Keaton as Bruce Wayne/Batman. Damn it, Jack Nicholson was in it and I had discovered Jack in “Shining” and “Chinatown,” far too young. The movie is dark, violent, and -– after recently watching a series of 1940s “Batman” serials on TCM that blazed dark -– I have rediscovered, it’s fuckin’ crazy inspiring. Groundbreaking. A mash-up of 80s action and 50s film noir, shot with grunge. Yeah, Batman has been Rambo’d up, and Joker’s all mafia, but its daring original entertainment, Burton at near career high. Anton Furst’s Gotham City –- built at Pinewood -– is among the greatest film sets ever. It astounds. B+