The Meg (3D)
Cert: 12A / 113 mins / Dir. Jon Turteltaub / Trailer
Of course, it was around 60 seconds into the opening titles of The Meg that I realised my error. I'd booked for the 3D screening*1. A presentation format which does not mix well with settings consisting of underwater-murk. It does not mix well at all. At all.
So. If Skyscraper was Jurassic Park with a building (it was), The Meg could well be Skyscraper underwater. Eccentric billionaire Jack Morris (Rainn Wilson) has funded 'Mana One', a state-of-the-art oceanic research laboratory in China, managed by Dr. Minway Zhang (Winston Chao) and his oceanographer daughter, Suyin (Bingbing Li). Morris visits the facility to check on its progress, but during the inspection a scout-submarine is stranded on the seabed after being attacked by a megalodon, a 75ft and thought-to-be-prehistoric shark.
In order to rescue the crew, the team on the Mana One decide to call in the only living man capable (and insane enough) to do the job - Jonas 'I don't do that shit no more' Taylor (The Stath™). Sheer coincidence has it that Jonas' ex-wife is one of the submarine's three inhabitants, because that's the kind of movie this is. Don't worry, that is not the most eye-rolling part of the film. Anyway, The Meg is pissed off, The Stath™ is pissed off, let's sit back and watch the underwater fireworks...
As a Summer action film aimed at people who don't like films, the Stath's™ is a role where he gets to mansplain most of the major plot points and the supporting characters are scriptually obligated to thank him for it. Great work, I'm sure. The overblown nature of our hero's macho-grumpiness and survivors-guilt is only matched by his contracted shirtless scene. That said, all credit goes to our leading man's game-face as he delivers some of the year's most excruciating dialogue. And it's good to see that The Stath™ has gone full-method on this one, with his accent in the waterlogged adventure duly operating under maritime law. By which I mean it does not fall under the jurisdiction of any single country…
The rest of the cast are airdropped into roles so unremarkable that the term stereotype seems unfeasibly generous, with monotype being closer to the mark. Suffering the most at the hands of a four-strong casting team who apparently hate actors is Ruby Rose as the emo-haired hacker Jaxx, who spends most of her time not at a keyboard. Because when the third xXx movie offers a performer a more interesting gig than a shark-flick, it really is time to switch agents.
None of this is why the audience are here of course; they're waiting for the monster. And director Jon Turtletaub doesn't drag out the reveal of the star attraction, nor skimp on it afterward. The shark looks good and the effects teams have done a solid job of delivering a sense of scale - no mean feat given that there's not too much visual size-comparison in an underwater setting. The jump-scares are thoroughly telegraphed in accordance with both the genre and the 12A certificate, but they deliver for audiences who are willing to play the game. What's more, although The Meg itself is a computer-rendered simulation, its relentless primal anger may well be the most emotionally-sincere performance of the whole film*2.
But can a 21st century shark-screenplay at least resist the temptation of a crowded beach panic scene? Can it fuck. With the arrival of act III, the ocean depths no longer hold the film-makers' attention and The Meg has decided to go the shoreline for a Chinese. Although this results in a popping zorb-ball which provides one of two moments that actually utilise the 3D format.
Credit where it's due, The Meg is marginally better than 47 Metres Down since it's not trying to disguise its ridiculousness. But it's not as good as The Shallows, on account of The Shallows being a shark-film that's not about sharks.
Very much by-the-numbers, and almost entirely what you'd expect from a film where The Stath™ punches a giant fish for two hours, what you get out of this will depend very much on the baggage you take in with you. Your humble correspondent was laden with bored cynicism and was rewarded accordingly*3.
The Meg is largely okay at what it does, but what it does is not largely okay.
The best line comes from The Stath™, naturally:
"This is possibly the worst moment of my life."
I know buddy, I know...
Most modern disaster movies, the type of which increasingly star The Rock.
You may as well.
Any sense of grandeur you get from watching a 75-foot shark on a 75-foot screen is going to be lost when this washes up in your living room.
See above.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
We very well might.
There isn't.
Level 1: Masi Oka stars in this, and he was a digital effects artist in episodes I, II and III.
This doesn't really deserve a 4, but if I give it a 3 that puts it below my score for 47 Metres Down, and the truth is it's not that bad.
*1 The 3D being in such high audience demand that of the four screenings of The Meg at my local today, only one was in the stereoscopic format, and that was in the smaller 137-seat screen. And 19 of those were occupied as the BBFC card came up. It's certainly appears that you can count all the people still interested in 3D on one rescue-sub... [ BACK ]
*2 Actually that's not entirely fair. The amount of screenplay-influence wielded by the Chinese production companies means that - in addition to the story location - Winston Chao and Bingbing Li get to carry out borderline-obscene levels of overly earnest familial, moral and environmental preaching, in a style that's completely detached from a monster/disaster movie. [ BACK ]
*3 And while I'm almost certain it was just me, I couldn't help but think that those two speeder-submarines used for the finale looked an awful lot like the Jedi Starfighters from the opening battle of Revenge of the Sith. That said, on more than one previous occasion on the seabed I'd thought "Monsters out there, leaking in here... all sinking and no power? Whena yousa thinking weesa in trouble?"... [ BACK ]
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.
After the adverts, trailers and more adverts have finished running, there's often a moment in the cinema where the whirring, motorised screen-edges widen, taking the aspect-ratio from 16:9(ish) to 2.35:1(ish). When this happens, my brain has one of three reactions. 1) This is as it should be, for the film I'm about to watch. 2) Well that's a pleasant surprise, considering the film I'm about to watch. 3) Get in, 33%(ish) more visible screen-death! There are no prizes for guessing which one of these crossed my mind before I read the BBFC-card for John Wick: Chapter 2…
Now it's not unfair to say that Chad Stahelski's sequel assumes (indeed, requires) that you enjoyed the first movie. In the first act at least, there's very little 'world building' going on and the film basically starts on 10 with a car-chase/shoot-up. A little more background is painted in later, but by then the adrenaline's been pumping so long that it doesn't matter how little sense the plot makes.
Still aggrieved about the can of worms he opened in the first movie*1, Chapter 2 sees retired hitman John owing someone a favour, trying to get out of that favour, repaying that favour and then wishing he hadn't bothered when everybody's trying to kill him. Who'd make an honour-deal with a criminal overlord, eh? Keanu Reeves does his best concerned-face as he relies on old friends and acquaintances to help him out, and the action moves to Italy for Artistic Reasons™ (although not permanently). Floating vibrantly through the air, plumes of blood gently redecorate the walls of Roman catacombs as their ballistic forebears percussively counter them by taking chunks out of the stonework. John Wick: Chapter 2 is a ballet of destruction, fully aware of its own preposterousness but never breaking its poker-face.
As predicted, Reeves' acting-chops don't get any better, but I'm not sure they can now. Luckily, this is one of the rare exceptions where his mahogany-esque acting only adds to the charm of the film. Peter Stormare hams up the opening exposition, Ian McShane returns to chew the scenery in the film's down-time, and there's also some fantastic over-acting from Laurence Fishburne (it's pretty great to see Neo and Morpheus back together again). It's genuinely like a bunch of old friends going 'don't worry Keanu, we've got your back'.
Although the first movie wasn't exactly a passive-aggressive note left on the office-fridge door, the sequel seems to have taken some lessons from Kingsmen as far as the dark-humour is concerned. I found myself cackling at some nameless henchman's demise on more than one occasion. And in terms of the wound-resistant, globe-trotting, anti-hero murderer archetype, the film wipes the floor with the likes of xXx. John Wick hasn't got time excruciating flirting when there are sharply-dressed gangsters that need despatching. The one-hit kills of lesser movies are nowhere to be seen, as Wick double-taps his way through each set-piece, a spray of claret emitting from each insurance shot. Gloriously irresponsible, it's the cinematic equivalent of four pints of diesel and a round of tequila slammers on a Tuesday night.
If you enjoy John Wick: Chapter 2 for no other reason, spare a thought for cinematographer Dan Laustsen, tasked with setting up a prolonged climactic shootout*2 in a maze of revolving mirrors, while ensuring the audience don't see the cameras. Outstanding work, sir…
*1 The first flick saw 84 people buying the farm because some hoodlums killed John's dog. The sequel features 128 people carking it because a photo of John's now-dead wife got burned. At this rate, John Wick Chapter 3 will be Keanu Reeves murdering 250 gangsters because one of them left the milk out on the side before going to work… [ BACK ]
*2 At the point where John gets given a pistol and seven rounds (one for each million-dollars making up the price on his head), I thought 'Oh, is the film about to go a bit Deadpool and show us how economical a killing machine the man can be? Is he really going to get through the finale of the film firing only seven shots?. The film then answered this by essentially saying "Ha-hah, is he fuck". John uses all the rounds on the first foot-soldier he comes across before taking that guy's gun and escalating from there. Restraint? Not in this screenplay, sunshine. [ BACK ]
*3 For reasons best-known only to myself two years ago, I marked the first movie at 5 out of 7, despite having only good things to say about it and nothing but fond memories since. Perhaps I was judging it against the more earnest action-movies which it's clearly not trying to be. Oddly enough, a work-colleague of mine told me last week he'd gone to watch John Wick for the first time in anticipation of the new movie, but gave up after twenty minutes because of the atrocious acting. Whichever way, I marked it 5 so I must have been feeling that at the time. And while it's hard for me to say that Chapter 2 is a "better" film, it's definitely a 6, so there we go. Make of that what you will.[ BACK ]
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.
Sometimes, you just know that the first-draft of a movie script was written in crayon. Also that no further drafts were considered necessary. Welcome to a film where the cinema staff performed IQ tests on patrons on the way in and out of the screening, to make sure no permanent cumulative damage had been done. Welcome to what is basically continuous chase/fight sequence, briefly punctuated by Toni Collette*1 pouting. Welcome to an actioner for viewers who find Vin Diesel's Fast & Furious movies "a bit complicated". Welcome to that performer's character flirting with every female on-screen while you bite off the inside of your own cheek. Welcome back, Xander Cage*2…
You know the drill, Diesel takes his shirt off and things explode for two hours, in lieu of a screenplay. That Paramount have seen fit to unleash this unasked-for threequel in the middle of January, should go some way to illustrating their confidence in it. It's a movie for a certain type of punter. This afternoon's screening played to eight people; all white, all male, all unaccompanied. Okay, I was in that bracket too, but hey.
The plot*3 centres around Cage and his expanding band of misfits working to recover a magic box being used by The Bad Terrorists™ to weaponise satellites by making them fall out of orbit (and apparently doing so to a metre-precise target-zone). Except obviously The Good Spy Agency™ is morally dubious, as well. And then people from The Bad Ones™ turn out to be The Good Ones™, and 45 minutes in none of it actually matters. One thing's for sure though, Vin Diesel plays A Good One. We know he's good because all of the women want to have it off with him, and pretty much all of the men can't help paying him compliments at every turn or getting punched in the face as a consequence. That is the film. Almost as good as that time Diesel made a full movie about his own Dungeons & Dragons character.
I'm not going to go into the myriad logical inconsistencies presented throughout the film's run-time; xXx doesn't deserve that level of analysis. Things might be different if it was All Good Fun™ at the same time, but this is lazy, reductive and staggeringly misogynistic, with Diesel's vacant grin being the icing on the already substandard cake. At least Assassin's Creed had the decency to keep a straight-face while it insulted everyone.
*1 Vin Diesel I understand, he just needs the attention. But what kind of gambling debts has the award-winning Toni Collette racked up that she's been roped into this absolute shower? At least she looks mortified at the lines she's been asked to read…
*2 I'm a little surprised that for the third Triple-X movie they didn't go for the title/tagline X3. The imminent Trainspotting sequel seems to have no problem repurposing Terminator's T2 abbreviation, and if it's okay to plagiarise something from a movie as great as that, then the third X-Men movie should present no moral conundrums, surely? And not to get too spoilerific, but Return of Xander Cage has had no problem at all in lifting Deadpool's "something stuck in your teeth" gag, as well as having Sam Jackson's agency-boss fake his own death for an end-of-movie funeral service in pretty much exactly the same way as Nick Fury did in Winter Soldier. No, seriously.
*3 I am of course using the word 'plot' in a sense every bit as loose as the screenplay itself. The word 'screenplay' also used loosely.
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.
