We've all been there; Browsing in Blockbuster, the HMV sale or the bargain-DVD section in Sainsbury's, and we come across a plastic case which gives us an involuntary tingle of excitement. Someone's made a sequel to that movie we like! How did this slip under our radar? Why wasn't this on at our local cinema? Why are we only hearing about this now? Well, there's only one way to answer that question; it involves spending the requisite £3 and usually ends with the question 'Why did this get made, never mind how?'.
The rules for selection are as follows: 1) The film needs to be a poorly received sequel to a generally successful film (so no crap sequels to crap originals, and no crap remakes of originals), 2) Films from longer series are fine, but the choice needs to be part two of that line, 3) I'm not intending to watch any of the associated part-ones as part of this run (whether I'm familiar with them or not), so there'll be extra pressure on the crap sequel to work on its own terms. So join me as I delve into some of the crappest, most unwarranted follow-ups of all time (hopefully with a couple of underrated, misunderstood gems thrown in).
How bad can it be, right? I mean, the original was good…
#CrapSequels: Highlander II: The Quickening Cert: 15 / 109 mins / Dir. Russell Mulachy
Year: 1991 (5 years after the first movie)
The general feeling: RT Score: 0% / IMDB Score: 3.9
This film was released in the same year as Terminator 2: Judgement Day. Think about that for a second. The film begins with a solid five minutes of self-indulgent dialogue-free opera with an Old Makeup™ Christopher Lambert nodding along and having flashbacks subtitled as "A very long time ago". Further captions will include "Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean", followed by "Still somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean". Self-deprecating in-jokes hardly seem appropriate with a film as severely flawed as this...
It becomes apparent from the early scene where Connor MacLeod walks into a grimy bar and fires up Queen's 'A Kind Of Magic' on the jukebox, that this is going to be a fairly desperate affair, with director Mulachy, as well as stars Lambert and Connery, hoping that the audience's goodwill will paper over the considerable cracks in the screenplay. The level of hammy acting is mortifying as everyone slips into B-movie mode, including genre stalwart Michael Ironside, who appears to have been paid to give a Jack Nicholson impersonation for two hours (complete with a self-tying ponytail accessory). Still, the jerky cackling of the 'porcupine twin' assassins at least gives me a clue as to the origins of Ray Park's performance as Toad in the first X-Men movie.
As heavily exposited as it is, the screenplay's sporadic zipping between "2024" and various points in Connor MacLeod's past means it manages to be a jumbled mess in a historical fashion, as well as a futuristic one. Speaking of such matters, Highlander 2's hackneyed use (even at the time) of dystopian regimes, long-haired street gangs and black-suited rebel commandos zip-wiring into an antagonist's facility, leaving a trail of library sound-effects in their wake, means that The Future™ has never looked quite so old. And just when your brain's adjusted to the Blade Runner-Lite proceedings, a man in a winged-suit who is quite clearly swinging on a rope, has a back-alley sword-fight with a man on a flying skateboard who is quite clearly swinging on a rope, like some awful hybrid of Tim Burton's Batman and Back To The Future II. The words "it doesn't get better than this" seemed painfully apt at that moment, for all the wrong reasons.
But it's not all 'the re-tooled oxygen-generator subplot from 1990's Total Recall'. Oh, no. Sir Sean of Connery drops in every ten minutes or so to deliver some ill-judged*1 humour into the proceedings as the 'man out of time' archetype. When he's not materialising in the middle of a stage-production of Hamlet and conversing with the actors without seeing the hundreds of people in the audience, or throwing his weight around in an inexplicably old-fashioned gent's tailors to replace his anachronistic clothing with new anachronistic clothing, he's being baffled by aeronautical flight and saying "dickhead" slightly too often. His efforts aren't the film's only attempts at comedy (satirical TV commercials and in-flight videos are always HA-HA-HILARIOUS, aren't they?), but they're certainly the worst.
In comparison with the above, the ungainly screen chemistry between Lambert and Virginia Madsen seems almost forgivable. Madsen stars as The Girl One™, athletic and earnest eco-terrorist Louise Marcus, who is so committed to her cause she has sex with MacLeod in the street about three minutes after meeting him (if it's any consolation, the sex itself only takes about 45 seconds, so she might be playing some sort of ratio-game, there). In fairness, it's difficult to imagine any pair of actors making things work in this film, but rest assured; they don't try very hard, anyway. Still, it's infinitely preferable to watching Michael Ironside whooping and cackling as he drives a passenger train at speeds of up to 600 mph (I don't know either, it's not explained), killing the passengers by making their eyes somehow bulge and explode in the process, all played out to some crappy 80's metal (I read the credits, I couldn't work out which song it was). Ironside's demoniacal glee at haphazardly topping civilians can only be matched by his knowledge that no matter how terrible he is in this film, he will never be called the worst thing in it.
I seem to be using the word "incoherent" a lot of late, but it's rarely as fitting as it is for this crap sequel.
Like a sweetmeat processing factory inhabiting every floor of a tower block, Highlander II: The Quickening is just bollocks on so many levels. What makes matters worse is that I apparently watched the "director's cut", and the thought that there's a worse version of this film out in the world somewhere really scares me.
Many moons ago, barely remembered it, though.
Many moons ago, vaguely disappointed with it at the time.
Probably, but it's a complete mess either way, so it doesn't really matter…
Inexplicably, Lambert and Connery are back, as is director Mulachy. And surely it CAN'T be shite when 'the talent' makes a return?
Well, it happened. I have no idea how, but it went on to be a very successful franchise.
If you're intent on watching it, Netflix (or equivalent). There's no point wasting money on this shite.
Didn't hear one.
How did this continue to be a film series as well as branching into live-action and animated TV shows?
*1 And when I say 'ill-judged', I also mean 'ill-timed' and 'ill-written'.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
We've all been there; Browsing in Blockbuster, the HMV sale or the bargain-DVD section in Sainsbury's, and we come across a plastic case which gives us an involuntary tingle of excitement. Someone's made a sequel to that movie we like! How did this slip under our radar? Why wasn't this on at our local cinema? Why are we only hearing about this now? Well, there's only one way to answer that question; it involves spending the requisite £3 and usually ends with the question 'Why did this get made, never mind how?'.
The rules for selection are as follows: 1) The film needs to be a poorly received sequel to a generally successful film (so no crap sequels to crap originals, and no crap remakes of originals), 2) Films from longer series are fine, but the choice needs to be part two of that line, 3) I'm not intending to watch any of the associated part-ones as part of this run (whether I'm familiar with them or not), so there'll be extra pressure on the crap sequel to work on its own terms. So join me as I delve into some of the crappest, most unwarranted follow-ups of all time (hopefully with a couple of underrated, misunderstood gems thrown in).
How bad can it be, right? I mean, the original was good…
#CrapSequels: The Mask 2: Son Of The Mask Cert: PG / 91 mins / Dir. Lawrence Gutterman
Year: 2004 (10 years after the first movie)
The general feeling: RT Score: 6% / IMDB Score: 2.1
This film was released in the same year as Kill Bill Vol. 2. Think about that for a second. Riding the wave of the first outing's popularity, New Line Cinema rushed to fill the void a mere 10 years after the original with this madcap sequel, and there's definitely the thought that a little more 'draft-time' may have helped the final film. I reckon about 200-300 years would have been sufficient*1.
This is, allegedly, a continuation from 1994's gurn-fest, tracking The Mask as it falls into the hands of a new owner (who also co-incidentally owns a Jack Russell terrier, so those sections with Milo in the last film can just be regurgitated), and becomes the grand maguffin as Norse god of mischief Loki attempts to retrieve it to appease his irate father, Odin (played by Bob Hoskins, meaning that Super Mario Bros was not quite his worst film, after all). Throw a heavily CGI'd baby into the mix, and that's your movie, give or take some acute cringing.
Son Of The Mask's opening scene encapsulates the film perfectly, and has all of the comic-book insanity of its predecessor, but with none of the charm or nerve to carry it off (by which I mean, no Jim Carrey). Instead we get Alan Cumming embarrassing himself as Loki in a sort of Darth Maul / Wicked Witch Of The West incarnation (not for all of it, just occasionally), and Jamie 'Scream' Kennedy proving that audiences are much happier when he's running around trying not to be stabbed. Indeed, the film's shoehorning in of a musical number with a bastardised version of 'Can't Take My Eyes Off You' should be punishable as a war crime (No, I'm fucking serious. Watch it.. Watch. All. Of. It).
Kennedy has a hapless affability when he's playing Tim, a harassed and aspiring animator, but the scenes featuring him wearing the titular Mask are like something from an eight-year old's paint-fume induced nightmare. The film veers between being reminiscent of Scooby Doo: Monsters Unleashed*2 and a live-action cartoon in the vein of the 1930's Tex Avery classics (giving rise to the lead character being called 'Tim Avery'; yeah, that subtle). Except the last time I saw Jerry give Tom a thorough thrashing, I don't recall the editor then cutting to an ashamed looking middle-aged actor staring into the camera with pleading eyes.
The curious thing is, as detestable as this is, the production values are more or less on par with what went last time, and visually it's mostly acceptable, (with the exception of the weird looking CGI baby. Then again, whenever we see the non-CGI baby, he's pretty weird, too). What the film may have in aesthetics and ambition is held back by the cast, script and overall concept. And that's without going into the way the screenplay treats Traylor Howard as a cutsey, nagging, manipulative baby-making machine who's not happy unless she's reproducing; to criticise that would be to credit the writers with a malice which is greater than their ineptitude.
Oh, and it loses a point from its already low-score for the twee ukulele version of 'What A Wonderful World'. Bastards.
"This is the crappiest piece of crap in Craptown."
Jamie Kennedy ~ having summed up Son Of The Mask a mere 16 minutes into the running time (and around 12 minutes after the audience have).
I haven't, no.
Loved the original to an inordinate level back in the day; still have a soft spot for it now.
It'd help, since the sequel half-arsedly explains what's going on in a way which will mean little to anyone who doesn't already know.
Ben "Anyone..? Anyone..?" Stein returns as Doctor Neuman. THAT'S IT.
(although he was in the animated series as well, and I suspect he goes to conventions cosplaying as his character to this day.)
Fuck, no.
People who complain about Jim Carrey being irritating should be made to buy this film and watch it repeatedly in its entirety, before they beg for mercy and retract their ill-considered opinions. For everyone else, avoid.
I didn't hear one.
I can't remember the last time I saw a PG movie with an animated impregnation-scene, can you?>
*1 HAHA, I AM HILARIOUS AND FUNNY and this is actually better than anything in the film so YOU shut up.
*2 And you can say what you like, but I actually rather enjoyed the Scooby Doo films. Compared to this they're like Citizen Kane.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
You've got to hand it to The Expendables as a franchise; it's never promised more than it's delivered. The cast-list may grow with each installment, but the complexity doesn't, and although this review is going to come across as incredibly sniffy, Ex3 is undoubtedly the perfect Summer-movie*1, where the phrase "…bang for your buck" is given a new, literal reinforcement.
So Sly™ gets the gang back together for a scrape in the first act of the movie (complete with helicopters, guns and massive, massive explosions) before retiring*2 the old codgers who can't act, out of some apparent sense of paternal camaraderie, and going on a lengthy recruitment montage with Frasier to get a team of youngsters who also can't act, but are faster at doing it. As a painfully mechanical plot (which is brightened up by the cinematic lunacy of Mel Gibson) trundles on, both groups of mannequins are drawn together to bridge the gap of generational dimwittedness, whilst Sly™ winces after having a set-runner spray a mist-gun over his eyes to emulate happiness. Actors you don't know the names of die; actors you at least recognise, don't. But at least this one doesn't have Bruce Willis in it, right?
The film is absolutely dreadful of course, but it's the kind of dreadful that you can at least laugh along to, and given the overall average of 2014, that's a blessed relief. Truth be told, there is at least more for the co-starring cast to do this time around, whereas last time they'd drop into a scene, wave 'hello' and then exit sharply. The roll-call of Saga-eligible thesps is still considerable, but there's some reason for them being there, even if it's a flimsy one (Yes, you Jet Li). Wesley Snipes looks like he was having an absolute blast making this movie (although his character is batshit-crazy in one scene and solemnly focused in the next; Patrick Hughes in the director's chair, there), as does the aforementioned Mel Gibson, who I haven't seen be this nuts since Machete Kills. Curiously, the only genuine sense of chemistry on display is between Stallone and Jason Statham, continuing the self-effacing, understated man-love they displayed in Ex2. It's this which leads me to believe that the potential is there for a series of much stronger movies, although it's debatable if they've ever aspired to be anything more than guns and grunting.
Ironically, the only display of actual acting in the entire film comes from Antonio Banderas, whooping, irritating and hamming things up beautifully as the Jar Jar Binks of the Expendables. Of all the faces on-screen, his is the only one that dares to break character, which for this series is almost revolutionary…
Clichéd, mechanical and gloriously dumb, The Expendables 3 is the Lynx Africa of action movies; very easy to take the piss out of, but far better than the alternative, ie stinking.
Pretty much.
Only when the shells were flying.
I think it achieves what Stallone wants it to…
The explosions are huge fun on a massive screen. Stallone attempting to emote isn't.
Nah.
I won't avoid it, but I doubt I'll seek it out.
For some reason best known to the creator of the universe and all that exists within it, there ain't.
Can we hold the Stallone to the phrase in the trailer, "one last ride", on some sort of legal basis? It's really best that this ends with part three, and I'm already wincing in anticipation of The Expendabelles…
*1 If only because if it was released at any other time of year it'd get a thorough pasting. Which it seems to have gotten anyway, admittedly. *2 Not 'retiring' in a Blade Runner sense. Although as coincidence would have it, Ford's rickety, laboured, by-the-numbers performance in this film indicates that he may well be a replicant after all. There's a frailty to the guy which genuinely worries me about his role in Star Wars Episode VII, now…
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Before I get stuck in, let me say right at the top that the effects-work in Into The Storm is nothing short of outstanding. When the twisters are closing in and hurling cars and farm machinery into the air, you feel every howl, whoosh, and gut-wrenching crack. More to the point, the cinematography in those scenes is breathtaking, too. The sheer chaos and savage beauty of the squall is thrust at the viewer with deafening precision as the audience collectively holds its breath, either wide-eyed or peeping from the corner of one eye.
Which is why it's a real shame that the rest of the film is such an utter turd. Taking the standard disaster-movie structure that outstayed its welcome in the 1990s, John Swetnam's screenplay is so formulaic and unashamedly dumb it makes Roland Emmerich's work look like Wes Anderson's. Perhaps the worst part is that the film spends 15 minutes clunkily setting up a device whereby each of the four groups we'll encounter are recording any-and-everything on video cameras, in order to give the film that found-footage feel that the kids are loving these days*1. Notwithstanding the fact that the professional cameras, semi-pro domestic cameras and redneck-owned cameraphones all seem to be recording at the same ultra hi-def, super-stabilised resolution with crystal-clear audio levels, we also get plenty of shots which can't be filmed by any of the characters. The film never forgets about the first-person vibe, it just can't be bothered to stick to it.
Hastily slapped onto this are some of the most one-dimensional characters ever to be partially-written, substituting phone conversations with their children for character-depth, and autopiloted soundbites for meaningful interaction. Of course Richard Armitage has got to be a single-father doing his best to raise his two sons after his wife's death. Of course Sarah Wayne Callies has to be a brilliant, if underrated workaholic meteorologist with a five-year old daughter she doesn't see enough and that breaks her heart at twenty minute intervals. Of course Matt Walsh's hardened stormchaser is going to redeem his arsehole personality by sacrificing himself for the good of the group and seeing the eye of the storm first-hand just like he's always wanted before dying*2. Of course the supporting cast of young identikit actors will barely even have names, let alone personalities (guess which one's going to die next? You're right, it doesn't really matter).
Only in this film would a group of people decide to hide in a storm drain (a structure designed to be flooded with water during a storm), during a storm, ten minutes after two of the lead characters almost drowned. Only in this film would the grilles at either end of the storm-drain be held on by two trucks outside and a length of steel winch-cable pulling them together, which everyone holds onto as a super-massive electrical storm passes directly overhead. Only in this film would the ill-timed comic relief come from two redneck stormchasers who are a danger to everyone around them throughout the film, but are also apparently invincible as the hi-def cameras which operate, untended, for the film's entire runtime.
Thankfully, it's all over in less than an hour and a half, done and dusted in time for hugs and clean-up operations under blue skies, and eggshell platitudes straight-to-camera. It's never the ones you want to die that buy the farm…
The second-stupidest film of the year, if big, loud, but ultimately empty bangs are your thing, you may well get something out of Into The Storm. Then again, if you're happy to pay £10 for an extended effects showreel, propped up with a script written by a computer, Expendables 3 comes out in a couple of days…
Oh, the trailer aspires to be as stupid as the film, but two and a half minutes isn't long enough to convey the absolute fucking density of the completed work.
I winced during the storm scenes, and I winced during the rest of it.
I have no idea.
Asda. £3 bin. Within 12 months. Seriously.
You know what? I probably will.
You know what? Not a chance.
There is. It doesn't help.
How little do 'The Walking Dead' and 'The Hobbit' pay, that Callies and Armitage accepted this job without reading the script?
*1 Traslation: that NO-ONE is loving these days.
*2 No, that's not a spoiler. That's my point. If anything, director Steven Quale spoiled this film by making it.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
