Righteous! Fire-breathing! Badass! But can’t kill one puny human.

Who knew Ancient Egypt had so many special effects?

Plot Flaw Alert Which No One Seems To Notice: In the visual gluttony called GODS OF EGYPT, evil god Set defeats virtuous god Horus by plucking out the source of Horus’s power – his eyes. Now Horus must go on a quest to retrieve his eyes, so that he can regain the power to defeat Set.

But wait, you dummies!—

If Set defeated Horus even when Horus had his eyes, then what good will it do Horus to get his eyes back? He was defeated even with the source of all his power intact – so… uh, what now, geniuses?

Thus this whole shaboo-shabah, this journey across netherworlds and cosmic oceans, this slogging through swamps and deserts, this battle against mega-sphinxes and ultra-cobras, all becomes extremely pointless. And very very very silly.

Danish-born Nikolaj Coster-Waldau is Horus, cutting an imposing figure that easily might have been a role for Aaron Eckhart or Thomas Jane (and we sometimes equate him with one of those more famous actors during the action sequences).

Manly Gerard Butler is Set, all square-jawed Welsh-Egyptian-British accent and thrumming deltoids, killing lesser gods and gaining their powers through – osmosis? ectoplasmic transfusion? zika virus? All we know is: with those powers, he even defeats his all-powerful father, the god of creation, Ra (Geoffrey Rush), who drives his magic sky bus by apparently turning actual physical levers. Then he has to have a rest on his steps in the evening from all the exertion. You lost me at magic underwear.

Brenton Thwaites is Bek, a human who helps Horus regain his eyes, so that Horus will in return help Bek rescue his lady love (Courtney Eaton) from the jaws of Anubis, the god of deathly judgment. Exotic Elodie Yung is Hathor, the goddess of love, who serves time with Set while he’s a winner and then abandons him when the tables turn. Why are so many leading ladies portrayed in this haphazard time-serving manner? Verbose Chadwick Boseman is the god scholar Thoth, the only god who looks African in this movie set in Africa.

“You faithless human! So you think I only exist because Aaron Eckhart’s agent asked for too much money?”

Writers Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless, and visionary director Alex Proyas try to imbue GODS OF EGYPT with a new slant: that of the ancient gods actually existing alongside men, ruling over Egypt like any imperial class. The 8-foot tall gods physically tower over their human subjects (who are screen-captured here in the same manner as the Hobbits in LORD OF THE RINGS – as smaller people alongside giants). The wars and skirmishes are basically between the gods over the manner of ruling the humans. It’s a workable concept, and ye gods I love the ancient Greek, Roman and Egyptian mythologies (despite some of the contradictions and arbitrary magic), but the filmmakers get caught up in gratuitous overkill when it comes to their efx sandbox.

The gods arbitrarily turn from human form to CGI versions of themselves; in their full CG eye-strain, they resemble their hieroglyphs, therefore Horus is a silver falcon with steel-belted wings and Anubis is a jackal-headed humanoid, etc. Set is many-gods-in-one, so he can turn into any old party favor he wants, just like it says in the Bible. One wonders why they even bother battling in their human forms if their god versions are so much more powerful and sexy. The backgrounds are ALL fake-looking, with many scenes nothing but computer graphic imagery, including all the foreground and characters. Some of the full-CGI characters like the minotaurs look jerky, with mismatched voices; there are giant snakes that blow fire, a Sphinx whose booming voice we cannot understand, and a soundtrack that oddly keeps reminding us of the main theme of Stranger In Paradise.

Here’s something else that doesn’t make sense in a world where gods and magic exist: Set usurps the throne of benevolent god king Osiris (Bryan Brown, complete with Australian-Egyptian accent), in order to enslave Egypt’s humans… to force them to build a tower for him; a tower he could just as easily have built, uh, with his magic and his own gigantic minotaur-minions. Ancient kings (and ancient Americans) enslaved people to perform tasks that were too cost-prohibitive with an employed labor force. But Set doesn’t need money. He’s magic. So why does he need slaves? If he wants to “rule over Egypt,” just kill Osiris, change the name-plates on the Ionic columns and rule over a land fertile and productive with an obviously flourishing economy. Why turn it into ochre filth and things burning on the horizon? Is this any way to run a big-dick-ocracy?

In the end, Horus discovers his “humanity” and realizes he doesn’t need his other eye to be more powerful than Set (because the focus groups say he looks more ruggedly sexy with that eye-patch), proving that gods can learn life lessons too, which means everything that just happened in the movie is even more unnecessary and pointless than it already was.

Ironically, GODS OF EGYPT will appeal to those who will never have the propensity to educate themselves on the mythical gods of ancient Egypt.

END

When holy barbecues get outa hand…

Frankenstein’s Glamster.

I, FRANKENSTEIN finds Frankenstein’s Monster in the modern world (which still resembles a big and brash medieval fantasy), immortal, an outsider caught in a war between two immortal clans – the Gargoyles and the Demons – that could damn the fate of humankind… if only humankind gave a toss.

Aaron Eckhart, ripped like a bridge cable, is the Monster, birthed from electric eel in the 17th century, walking the Earth a hunted, soul-less being. Dubbed Adam by the Gargoyle Queen (Miranda Otto, who looks like Jodie Foster when the light hits her at almost any angle), he’s fast, furious and toyt like a workout queen.

Adam (simply called Frankenstein as an easier point of reference) is sought by the Demon Prince Naberius (played with vampire brio by none other than vampire king Bill Nighy, UNDERWORLD), to discover the secret of how he could be animated and still have no soul. Naberius has been collecting soul-less corpses for centuries and apparently only soul-less corpses can be possessed by demons, so once he discovers how to animate the corpses, he summons his demons to inhabit this army to do his bidding on Earth. Yes, I’m asking the same questions as you: Was he banking on discovering Frankenstein at some point, even though he was probably collecting corpses long before Victor Frankenstein’s time, and what was he doing in the meantime when he needed evil helpers and all his corpses were just laying around gathering slime? But I call “bullshit” on “only soul-less corpses can be possessed by demons” anyway! What about THE EXORCIST, THE OMEN, THE LAST EXORCISM, THE EXORCISM OF EMILY ROSE, et al? Sigh. Onward…

So the Gargoyles, led by stone warrior Gideon (Jai Courtney) try to keep Franky away from Naberius, who has human scientists working for him, trying to emulate Victor Frankenstein’s infamous life-creating experiments. Female scientist Yvonne Strahovski (desperately looking like Rosamund Pike) would become Franky’s insipid “love interest,” if only he could stop staying out all night slaying Demons.

It’s an interesting plot pitting Frankenstein against two factions as a pawn in their war (from the graphic novel by Kevin Grevioux), but it’s executed with flash in stead of flair by screenwriter-director Stuart Beattie (only his second directorial effort, his writing credits including DERAILED 2005, AUSTRALIA 2008). Too much flash. Every time a Demon dies (or is “descended”) fireballs coruscate around the screen interminably, obfuscating the action. And every time a Gargoyle dies (or is “ascended”) a blue light like a stairway to heaven also obfuscates the action. In a lethal battle between Demons and Gargoyles, it’s a glam-slam Macy’s Christmas lightshow. And the ending – with fireballs ascending from hell into thousands of bodies on racks, and the CGI gargoyles killing them and turning them back into fireballs, and the mansion exploding and falling back into hell – is like a Disneyland fireworks display meeting the finale of a KISS concert. My eyes! I’m blind!—

It’s now a tossup between the ripped Aaron Eckhart and the solid Thomas Jane for the exact same roles. Who woulda thought the doughy guy with the porn-stache from YOUR FRIENDS & NEIGHBORS (1998) would make such a fantastic action hero? He’s alive! ALIIIIIVE!

END

Moulage of the Ripe Cheddar.

THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER: where characters we care not one whit for embark on a journey we have absolute zero interest in.

After two movies, author C.S. Lewis‘s epic saga of the magical Narnia universe is going nowhere fabulously fast. And by that I mean, director Michael Apted (THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH) has been taking lessons from George Lucas, by Making It Up As He Goes Along, and allowing CGI to tell the story that his inept actors cannot convey. Ironic that this third installment in the Narnia franchise is a travelogue, a road movie that stands still.

The magic has been completely lost. Two reasons: The dynamic of the four young children discovering a fantasy world is sorely missing, the two Elder Snobs (William Moseley and Anna Popplewell) only appearing in inane cameos, leaving the burden of screentime to their non-actor siblings, Edmund (Skandar Keynes, whose line reads are incredibly awesome for a block of wood) and Lucy (Georgie Henley, who continues to pout her lines like a Disney infant on Christmas Day, even though she’s now sporting chest buds). Oh yes, and now they have a Cousin Oliver* along for the ride (*the classic BRADY BUNCH gambit of introducing a younger child into the fray to retain the cuteness level due to the original cast growing old and bloated) – Will Poulter as their whining, sniveling cousin Eustace. Secondly, the awe and wonder of actually being in Narnia is also non-existent; these two Younger Snobs expect to be treated with obeisance now, not due to any feats of monarchy, but as a taken-for-granted condition, welcoming it as a kind of escapism from their dreary London existence in the Real World during WWII. Their hubris at landing back in Narnia (through a painting) and then being bowed to and fawned over fries my brain.

They meet Prince Caspian (Ben Barnes) helming the Dawn Treader sailing vessel, in search of some old guys with long swords and longer beards. He introduces them to his crew, “Edmund and Lucy – the high king and queen of Narnia.” Well, someone must be high, to believe those titles hold any credence…

This forgettable piece of CGI garbage, like its predecessors, is littered passim with Christ allegories, the most obvious being Aslan the Christ-y Lion, who appears intermittently to remind everyone how he works in mysterious ways. Liam Neeson voices Aslan, with as much verve as he played Qui Gon Jin, which means he phoned it in while playing with his Jar Jar Binks. At one point, Aslan appears in a mirror to Lucy – she looks at the room behind her, but he is not there, only in the mirror. Which means he’s some kind of anti-vampire. And if Aslan is anti-vampire, that can only mean one thing – he’s Taylor Lautner.

Director employs the tried-and-true B-Movie Directing Method of keeping the first take where no one flubs their lines. No characterization to speak of, everyone reading their sides dutifully and letting the special effects go to work for them. Only character fully fleshed-out is the mouse Reepicheep (Simon Pegg) – and he’s a special effect.

Every time the Dawn Treader docks, we brace ourselves for another pointless “adventure” that meanders nowhere and means nothing. Characters appear. Senselessly. (Example: if you haven’t seen the previous two movies, of what significance is Tilda Swinton’s ghostly appearance as the White Witch to tempt Edmund?)

Then magic happens. Over and over again. That last vestige of bad storytelling. Whenever you use magic in your story, the trick, so to speak, is to make it seem nonintrusive, organic; not like a deus ex machina, but something that has defined rules and limitations. In the NARNIA movies, like those execrable HARRY POTTER debacles, magic is used arbitrarily to drive the plot. It’s a contrivance, a convenience. Used, then ignored. But then, to a delusional christian fanatic like C.S. Lewis, Jesus is magic, so snap!

The captain mentions “sea serpents” and Edmund actually scoffs at him! Of course, in a land where animals talk and magic runs everything, there couldn’t possibly be sea serpents – that’s just crazy talk!

Then Eustace is turned into a dragon. By magic. Uh, okaaaay. Seeing as he whimpers about this plot point, we presume it was used to humble him… but if this brat was not humbled by all the evidence of magic and talking animals, what precludes him from becoming an even bigger arsehole when he acquires the mantle of a twenty-foot fire-breathing dragon?! Oh, these powerful demon-wings enabling me to fly and this breath that can immolate kingdoms is really making me feel small and insecure, and remorseful that I insulted everyone!… Who schooled C.S. Lewis on human nature – a minotaur?

After the boring climax fighting off that sea serpent that happened to be real, they all end up on the Island of Lost Toys or whatever and meet Aslan Lautner. As a perpetual tsunami kisses the shore but doesn’t break (like THE ABYSS), Neeson is now so freakin’ bored of playing this lion’s pixels that he’s making stuff up like, “I exist in your world as well, under a different name.” Hmm, let’s see: a guy who died and came back to life, a guy who lives in dark sanctuaries where your minions gather to eat your body and drink your blood, a mysterious being who can take many forms and appear in your dreams, a guy who can grant eternal life, yet a vengeful spirit who kills the good and evil alike without any discernment… Dude, in this world, are you Dracula?

END

When Nature Calls Through Its Arse.

You either like Ace Ventura or you want to entrap him in a space capsule bound for the heart of the black hole at the center of the Milky Way. If you are of the latter persuasion, don’t read on. It will only prompt you to spend inordinate amounts of money on the space program to construct that black hole-bound capsule.

Jim Carrey once again tears comedy a new black hole as pet detective Ace Ventura in ACE VENTURA: WHEN NATURE CALLS, the Hawaiian shirt-clad sequel to his breakout ACE VENTURA PET DETECTIVE.

More muttonhead insanity for muttonheads. That doesn’t mean this sequel isn’t as bold, brash and bountifully braggadocio as its predecessor; a riotous laugh-a-minute wild kingdom zoo train (but see disclaimer above).

Ace is called out of retirement by an explorer (a game Ian McNiece), to travel to Africa and locate a missing sacred white bat, which will avert war between two tribes. Along the way, he engages in a loogie-fest with the Wachati tribesmen, a test of manly skill with their opponents, the Wachootoo tribe (featuring Tommy Davidson as a maniacal little tribal warrior), is birthed naked by a robot rhinoceros, wrestles a crocodile, is forced into a Wolverine hairdo, deflowers a forbidden virgin tribesgirl, uncovers the whitey corporate plot (with Simon Callow as a contemptuous upper class Brit), and once again talks through his arse.

It becomes obvious from this movie that Jim Carrey’s inimitable performance in ACE VENTURA was no fluke and that his star rising was no accident. Seeing him in action, we realize that the White Boy from IN LIVING COLOR has become a dynamo force of nature that no vagaries of the industry could have stopped. Physical comedians Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin and Jerry Lewis were from an age long dead – the world was hungry for the next larger-than-life King of Comedy.

Unlike mundane “comedians” like the Ray Romanos, George Lopezes and Larry The Cable Guys (who rely on writing, direction, editing, soundtrack, to convey their stunted comedic stylings), Carrey is able to turn mundane writing and storyline into a visual hurricane of ideas and kineticism, aware of every muscle in his body during every moment of screentime, ever driving to squeeze the last iota of juice from his performance. It is not that he is bombastic – of course he is, that’s Ace – but that he can imbue that bombast with such creativity.

Underneath it all, WHEN NATURE CALLS is a call to nature – the message of conservation spears home loud and clear. You Earth faddies should love that, right?

No matter what you may think of Jim Carrey, he opened the way for a new strand of physical comedy, the likes of which Will Ferrell and Rob Schneider and Jason Biggs should be eternally grateful.

So before you even speak of that black hole, deal with that black hole speaking….

END

Epic Saddlebag Superhero.

Being a son of Australia, this movie was calling to my blood. I had to watch it, right? I had to know it, feel it, taste it. And report back on whether it hides behind the faux-Aussie Outback Steakhouse jive, or whether it truly captures the wild frontier Dreamtime spirit of Downunda; the vast ochre countryscapes, the earthy indomitability of the fledgling nation… and Hugh Jackman’s sky-tanned, whip-leathered, torpedo-ripped, v-shaped body.

Drover Poffy

All of the above… No fake Outback Steakhouse accents in sight.

You’ve gotta have some ballsac to name your movie AUSTRALIA. It better be as epic as the story that drove a continent from convict colony to commonwealth.

Well, it’s Baz Luhrmann, so it’s gonna be stylish; it’s Nicole Kidman, so it’s gonna be painfully pretty; it’s Hugh Jackman, so it’s gonna be oozing sexual bacon like a piston on powerdrive.

Set in 1939, on the threshold of World War II, directed by Luhrmann, AUSTRALIA is a fitting update to the lowbrow image that CROCODILE DUNDEE burned into a blinkered world in 1986.

Kidman is Lady Sarah Ashley, who travels to Darwin in Australia’s Northern Territory, to hold onto her middle-of-nowhere property against the clutches of land baron King Carney (Bryan Brown). She finds herself in a massive cattle drive with a ragtag team of drovers, led by a man known as Drover (Jackman, doing some fine tragic acting over and above his bacon).

What can a man say about Hugh Jackman without going slightly bi-curious in the process? I’ll try. I counted at least seven Superhero Entrances, three Sexiest Man Alive pose-downs and lost count of the times I was caught looking at his gun-belt slung so low that I accidentally imagined his package brushing against my naked face. (Failed again with that “bi-curious” thing…)

We meet Wolverine in a barroom brawl – big surprise! – biceps thrumming and wisecracks humming, his native Aussie accent so broad and true-blue I was flat out like a lizard drinkin’ tryin’ ta catch the Strine. Snooty Lady Ashley’s outspoken British disdain for this rowdy bushman tells us they are soon going to be tonguing breathlessly in the moonlight or dancing in the rain or running tearfully towards each other with uplifting music swelling the soundtrack.

Again: all of the above.

But now comes the element that separates this sloppy love story from its many mindless hormonal Teen Model copies.

It’s not just the soaring cinematography (AUSTRALIA must be viewed on the widest of wide screens); it’s not just Nicole Kidman’s padded baseball breasts straining against harsh schoolmarm blouses (eternally 23 years old, how come she has no pores?); it’s not just exhibiting bravery in killing kangaroos (the equivalent of killing American bald eagles – like the eagle, the kangaroo is a national symbol, but to a whole native people, the kangaroo is merely food); that which separates AUSTRALIA from the conveyor belt of epic, sweeping, tiresome love stories is… the Dreamtime – the rich, mysterious Aboriginal culture…

…embedded in this movie like the trail dust under Drover’s taut-buttocked saddle. Personified by the regal David Gulpilil, veteran Australian Aboriginal legend, playing an old-world tribal loner named King George, in touch with The Land and destiny in ways we “civilized” muckies cannot fathom.

Dr. Strange got nuthin’ on the Dreamtime!

And 12-year-old Brandon Walters as Nullah. In his first feature role, this young Aboriginal with the golden-black hair dominates the screen with confidence, frailty, innocence and empathy. The film is his – he stands as tall as Kidman and Jackman. He narrates from his perspective as the bastard son of a “white fella” and an Aboriginal, a half-caste the bigots call “creamy.” Nullah attaches himself to Lady Ashley after his mother dies; together with Drover, they form an informal family unit. (And Drover is not just a shallow white fella – his best mate is a “black fella” (David Ngoombujarra) and his deceased wife was that mate’s sister. The racist townsfolk consider Drover a black fella – which makes for a great excuse to start barroom brawls.)

AUSTRALIA marries the three disparate elements of Australia – the pompous city (Kidman), the rugged country (Jackman) and the beating blood of the land (Walters) – in one inadvertent family thrown together by range war and world war. It is heartening that Luhrmann and his co-writers (Stuart Beattie, Ronald Harwood and Richard Flanagan) remembered that all these elements together shaped the Australia we know today.

Never has there been an Australian movie that gives such respect, acceptance and influence to Aborigines. Which makes this film an old-fashioned epic with new-fashioned values.

AUSTRALIA comes with two happy endings (not counting the scene where Hugh Jackman pours a bucket of water over his nude beefcake). Ending #1 finds Lady Ashley, Drover and Nullah settling on her hard-won property (after that dance in the rain), but instead of the credit roll which would seem fitting here, we get – WAR! And land baron King Carney (your average “twirling mustache” villain) is succeeded by his henchman, Fletcher (David Wenham), who is truly monstrous – the type who would gun down his own son for financial gain.

Stakes are ramped up as Fletcher almost destroys Lady Ashley, while sending his own illegitimate son, Nullah, to a boys’ home on Mission Island. Which the Japanese immediately bomb.

I promised myself I wouldn’t cum.

Whole third act is a tearjerker movie in itself, as everyone thinks everyone else is dead, leading to the inevitable “running tearfully towards each other with uplifting music” moment.

In a horrifying display of callousness, Fletcher tries to shoot Nullah, his own estranged son, until King George – a ubiquitous mystical presence throughout the movie – descends on him like a bird of prey. You will never again use the word “spearchucker” as derision.

Despite terribly inauthentic lighting, some iffy green-screen (worst offender is Nullah staring down stampeding CGI), and the mystical “I will sing you to me” moments involving Over the Rainbow, AUSTRALIA is a cry of elation for a southern desert land that was seemingly conquered by Hollywood with the DUNDEES, now reclaiming its mystery and majesty; a complex tale of three worlds in harmony, gleefully destroying Australian archetypes and shaping brave new ones.

Ending #2 is the bravura stroke, as Nullah goes a-Waltzing Matilda into the Australian bush with King George, on “walkabout” (Aboriginal transition to manhood). Luhrmann could have easily opted for a crass generic scene of two white lovers riding slomo into a red sun; rather, this movie is Nullah’s journey, Lady Ashley and Drover watching him fade into manhood, as a magic hour sunset burns into the sad horizon…

Think I’ll go start a barroom brawl at Outback Steakhouse.

END