By Brett Blake 2015 has proved to be something of a min-Renaissance for the spy genre. KINGSMAN: THE SECRET SERVICE, SPY, and MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE - ROGUE NATION kicked off the year, and November’s upcoming James Bond opus, SPECTRE, will close it out, but before we get there, we have THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. Far from being just an also-ran, mid-August dumping ground release, Guy Ritchie’s latest is a ridiculous amount of fun, a swinging, charming, 1960s-set espionage tale that offers a trio of winning lead performances and a glamorous, affectionate homage to the golden era of spy cinema. Based on the television series of the same name, the film follows Napoleon Solo (Henry Cavill), a CIA operative in the early 1960s who finds himself teamed up with one of the KGB’s finest, Illya Kuryakin (Armie Hammer), on a mission to stop a mysterious criminal organization - headed by Victoria Vinciguerra (Elizabeth Debicki) - from procuring a nuclear weapon and unleashing mayhem across the globe. Solo and Kuryakin find themselves enlisting the aid of Gabby Teller (Alicia Vikander), a German mechanic whose father may-or-may-not be involved in Vinciguerra’s shady and nefarious dealings. All manner of colorful and sophisticated espionage hijinks then ensue. The narrative presents a plot that has literally been seen in dozens of spy films gone by (including any number of the entries in the James Bond series), but the plot here is almost an afterthought by design (and that is not meant to sound like a complaint); it exists solely to provide an excuse to watch the cast bounce off each other, and to present a gorgeously idealized version of the 1960s. This is an incredibly stylish production, one that luxuriates in the aesthetic of the ‘60s. From costumes to cars, hairstyles to locales, the movie is the ultimate love letter to the peppy spy yarns and European-set caper films of the era without ever coming close to tipping over into full-blown spoof territory. The 1960s of THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. didn’t really exist outside of the cinema of that decade, and it’s truly wonderful to see flair, panache, and glamour presented unapologetically and without a wink at the audience. As Napoleon Solo, Henry Cavill exudes movie star charisma; he’s playing a very specific “type” that should be recognizable to anyone even slightly familiar with the genre, but he brings a great sense of detached cool to the part that is intensely watchable. He’s ably matched by Armie Hammer’s Illya Kuryakin; Hammer has a distinctive and formidable physicality that nicely contrasts with the character’s (at times humorous) stoicism, which is something that makes him an endearing figure and not the stick-in-the-mud the part could have been in other hands. Both Hammer and Cavill are very nearly upstaged by Alicia Vikander’s work in the film, which is incredibly vibrant and appealing. Vikander - who will soon be a major star (you heard it here first) if her 2015 output so far is any indication - is clearly having a terrific time, is game for anything, and is not above allowing herself to be both a little vulnerable and a little goofy while onscreen, which is rarer than you might think. The supporting players make their mark effectively enough (Elizabeth Debicki is a striking presence and hits exactly the right note as the villainess of the story, while Hugh Grant pops up in an extended cameo which uses his sense of humor to dry effect), but the movie belongs to our lead trio, and their chemistry together is incredibly enjoyable to watch. Director Guy Ritchie stages the action in nifty ways, but honestly, those looking for some kind of overblown extravaganza will probably come away feeling the movie’s a bit lacking. There are chases and shootouts and fisticuffs, to be sure, but none of these sequences dominate the proceedings. If you come away from the movie having enjoyed it, chances are it won’t be because of the memorable action, but because of the character moments and the aesthetic choices made by the filmmakers. It’s a movie where the most direct pleasure comes from soaking in its vibe; for example, the movie’s best scene involves a character listening to some music and enjoying a glass of wine while an action sequence unfolds in the background. To cut away from what should be a big setpiece might be frustrating for some, but the quiet and delightful moment we get in exchange more than makes up for it. Perhaps the single strongest element of the movie - beyond even the actors’ chemistry, beyond even the production and costume design - is the musical score from Daniel Pemberton. Drawing from a number of classic influences as varied as Lalo Schifrin, Ennio Morricone, Neal Hefti, and even the snappy ‘60s jazz sound of such giants as Henry Mancini, Jerry Goldsmith (who himself had a hand in the music for the original TV show), and John Williams, Pemberton’s music for U.N.C.L.E. is nothing less than an utterly charming, swaggering blast from the musical past. Rather than just sounding like a pastiche, however, the score feels totally fresh (and, indeed, refreshing); in an age where blockbusters are often overscored with droning nonsense or bombast, Pemberton reminds us that jazzy overtones were once the classiest and most sophisticated fit for an espionage yarn, and that approach still works tremendously. It’s shamelessly fun music, and one of the year’s best scores. Nobody - not even its biggest defenders - would argue that THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. is high art, or a particularly important or deep work of cinema. It is a confection of a film, a breezy and light offering that should delight both fans of the spy genre and devotees of all things 1960s. I can think of many worse ways to close out a summer at the movies than this. It’s simply a lot of fun.
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By Brett Blake FANTASTIC FOUR is a failure on multiple levels. It marginally fails as a compelling science fiction yarn even when disconnected from its source material, and it really fails as an adaptation of said source material. In its quest to be a supposedly “realistic” interpretation of its Marvel comic book parent, it is a (mostly) humorless, grim, chore of a watch, almost totally lacking in charm, excitement, or vitality, and while it is not aggressively bad, and unworthy of hatred, it leaves many things to be desired. The story revolves around Reed Richards (Miles Teller), a brilliant young student-scientist who is given a scholarship to the prestigious Baxter Foundation. While there, he meets Sue and Johnny Storm (Kate Mara and Michael B. Jordan), as well as Victor Von Doom (Toby Kebbell), and together they collaborate on building an interdimensional teleportation device. A catastrophic accident during a test of the device leaves them all - along with Reed’s childhood friend, Ben Grimm (Jamie Bell) - imbued with a variety of strange and incredible powers, and it then falls upon Reed, Johnny, Sue, and Ben to deal both with the government (which wants to use their abilities for shadowy purposes) and Doom, who has been driven insane by his newfound powers. That basic synopsis is - I guarantee - more exciting than the actual movie is. The decision (made by director Josh Trank and screenwriters Simon Kinberg and Jeremy Slater) to take a property that literally contains the word “Fantastic” in its title and ground it in a realistic and (so-called) “gritty” tone is completely baffling. It’s as if the filmmakers looked at the material and said, “This stuff is great! Now let’s change everything!” It’s really bizarre, and it smacks of either the studio or the filmmakers being embarrassed by the gleefully vibrant color and weirdness of the comic book. The movie discards just about everything that made the original comic unique in favor of a plodding, poorly-paced narrative (the editing is downright sloppy at times; momentum never builds, scenes flow into each other strangely, etc.) and a dour, generic visual style. Narratively, the screenplay dictates that this should not only be an origin story, but an origin story that literally takes the entire film to get the characters into a position even remotely resembling their comics counterparts. It’s a whole 100 minutes of origin, and while it’s admirable on one level to give the characters breathing room as they deal with their new abilities, this is, frankly, overkill. Almost all of the actors are stranded by the screenplay, which does the bare minimum to build up the core relationships; Jordan attempts to liven things up at points, but most of these attempts fall flat, while Mara and Bell are given virtually nothing to work with, despite playing characters that should be - on paper - very compelling. Kebbell does the best he can with a preposterously ill-considered character (more on that in a moment), but only Teller truly feels like an engaged and likable presence, and even he doesn’t have much in the way of a character arc. There are some nice moments to be found, particularly the wonderful prologue involving young Reed and Ben experimenting as kids, but aside from that there is little sense of joy, or awe, or wonder. Even in the moments of grand scientific discovery, which are technically well-shot, the tone makes everything feel like a slog. The scale of the story is also curiously small; until we reach the (totally rubbish, utterly nonsensical, overly bombastic) CGI meltdown of a finale, there is little in the way of action or excitement, much less anything resembling fun. Keep in mind, this is a story about a man who can fly and turn his whole body into flames, another man who can contort and stretch himself into any configuration, a woman who can turn invisible and project force fields, and a giant rock monster. These are characters that lend themselves to big, vibrant action, but there is very little of that present in this movie before the climax. The only sequence that has any juice or vitality to it is the one depicting the accident that gives the characters their powers - it is staged like a horror film, and is truly effective and scary, but nothing else in the movie even comes close to it, making it an outlier. The most egregious misstep the movie makes is in the handling of its villain, Victor Von Doom. If one sets aside the enormously significant heritage of the Doctor Doom character from the comic books, this film’s version of Doom is - at least for the first half of the movie - mildly interesting and compellingly acted by Kebbell, but he’s not at all Doom from the comics, so why even use that name? In this fourth iteration of the FANTASTIC FOUR property on film, Hollywood still hasn’t gotten the character right; they’ve taken what is arguably the most operatic, grandiose, and fascinating villain in the Marvel stable and stripped him of everything that makes him so cool and formidable. When Kebbell’s Doom finally tips over into arch-villainy in the (very rushed) third act, it is massively underwhelming. Kebbell is a very good actor, and - as I said - his early moments in the film are strong(ish), but when called upon to portray one of the great iconic comic villains in full regalia (or at least as close to full regalia as this “grounded” and “realistic” take allows, which is to say not close at all), he’s left adrift by the script, which forces him to utter dialogue of the ridiculously bad sort and to behave in ways that are completely unmotivated and inadequately set-up. None of the comic character’s gravitas, ego, or calculating intellect shine through. Now look, nobody's saying filmmakers need to be totally beholden to comic books from 50 years ago, but to squander a rich character like Doom by turning him into a void of personality is nothing less than a huge miscalculation. And so it is with the movie as a whole. The filmmakers here clearly had good intentions. Though a darkish take on the material is a questionable move, it is not a cynical one. It is a pure film, very clearly the one the filmmakers set out to make (at least tonally), and that is admirable on a certain level. It strives to have a soul and a distinct point-of-view, even if the execution therein is massively misguided… which it surely is. At the end of the day, FANTASTIC FOUR is a portrait of mediocrity. |
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