The Lion King (2019)

 

The Low-Down: For the past decade, Disney has dedicated an immense amount of resources to translating its classic animated films into live-action blockbusters – with varying degrees of success. This new incarnation of The Lion King is unusual because it is, in itself, another kind of animated film: all its creatures, great and small, are computer-generated to look photo-real. The technical wizardry on display is undoubtedly impressive. But the final film winds up undermining its own existence – what is the point of re-making something that evidently works so much better with traditional hand-drawn animation?

The Story: If you’ve seen the original 1994 film, there’ll be no surprises here. We are introduced to the adorable Simba (voiced by JD McCrary as a cub, before ageing into Donald Glover), the little prince who will one day lead his pride as a king. But even the best-laid succession plans crumble into dust when Simba’s sinister uncle, Scar (Chiwetel Ejiofor), plots against reigning king Mufasa (James Earl Jones). After tragedy strikes, Simba is forced to build a new life for himself – even though his true destiny lies far closer to home.

The Good: There’s no denying that the cutting-edge technology used to bring Simba’s pridelands to life is really quite remarkable. It’s photo-real in a way that probably wasn’t possible even a few years ago, and you’d be forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled onto a sublimely shot nature documentary if you watch this film without the sound on. That’s not advisable, however, as director Jon Favreau clearly put some effort into engineering a new soundscape for the film. Elton John’s score is beautifully refreshed, mixed with a fresh energy and rhythm that work very well (even though the new songs – Beyonce’s Spirit and John’s end-credits number, Never Too Late – aren’t particularly memorable). The new voice cast is mostly very appealing. Glover never quite manages to slip under Simba’s skin, but Ejiofor deliciously unearths several shades of evil as Scar, and John Oliver is a hoot as fluttery hornbill advisor Zazu.

The Not-So-Good: The biggest problem with this film is that its best feature also happens to be its worst. This new kind of photo-real animation looks great, but it somehow manages to appear life-like while lacking any actual life. As it turns out, hyper-realistic lions can’t emote or talk like humans, so it borders on the ridiculous (and unnerving) to have them do just that. Moments that broke your heart in the original 1994 film might make you giggle 25 years later. It’s unfortunate, too, that Favreau’s film hews so closely to its predecessor’s script and story beats. With that crucial spark of life – or soul, as it were – already missing from these lions, you’ll only become more aware of the weaknesses that have always been a part of Simba’s rather patchy emotional trajectory. (Chiefly: does he actually learn anything? Guilt and grief alone do not a character’s growth make.)

Comic Relief: Favreau’s film almost slavishly follows its predecessor, except it allows comedians Billy Eichner and Seth Rogen a little room to riff as Timon (meerkat) and Pumbaa (warthog) respectively. Together, they provide some of the film’s funniest – as well as its most annoying – moments. In one instance, they make an inspired reference to another classic Disney movie that’s a surefire crowd-pleaser, even though its cheeky meta-textuality adds to the film’s tonal woes.

Recommended? Not particularly. This Lion King is more misfire than masterpiece.

 

Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)

Han Solo, as played by the incomparably charming Harrison Ford, is one of the most iconic action heroes in all of cinematic history. There’s no denying that: it’s simply a fact of life, an immutable truth. You have to give LucasFilm and Disney some credit for having the balls to re-imagine so beloved a hero – re-casting him, giving him a love interest other than Leia, filling in gaps in his backstory – all at the risk of alienating a devoted fanbase that has loved one incarnation of Han Solo for decades. It’s a gamble that doesn’t quite pay off, unfortunately. This origin story is fairly entertaining as outer-space adventures go, but it lingers almost permanently in the key of too safe and too slow.

We first meet Han (Alden Ehrenreich) on his grim home planet of Corellia. An orphan and a petty thief, he’s been living the proverbial hard-knock life on the streets with his partner-in-crime, Qi’ra (Emilia Clarke). When the pair make an ill-fated attempt to escape, only Han manages to get away. He spends the next few years honing his craft as a pilot, while doing his best to get back to her side. Along the way, Han meets several individuals who will prove instrumental in shaping him into the charming rogue we already know and love: future first mate Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), pragmatic outlaw Tobias Beckett (Woody Harrelson) and suave smuggler Lando Calrissian (Donald Glover).

For both Star Wars novices and aficionados, there’s enough in Solo to enjoy. The stand-alone nature of this film makes it a decent jumping-on point for the uninitiated. There isn’t a ton of dense Star Wars lore that you need to know in order for key dramatic moments in the film to work. At the same time, life-long fans will finally get to see just how Han pulled off his legendary Kessel Run in 12 parsecs, even as the deepening bromance between Han and Chewie proves to be one of the film’s purest delights. Solo also boasts another scene-stealing droid (Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s spunky L3-37) and a few spectacular action sequences (particularly a mid-air train heist that defies both gravity and expectations).

The trouble is that the film, as a whole, lacks the energy and inventiveness that ran through practically every frame of The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. The heist at the heart of Solo is never quite as exhilarating as it seems to think it is. We should be swept along in the sheer epic adventure of it all. Instead, the interstellar journey feels like it’s checking off boxes (befriend Chewie, snag Millennium Falcon, survive Kessel Run) rather than letting loose and having fun. As a result, the film’s middle section sags and practically plods along. At least 20 minutes could have been sliced out of Solo without detriment to the story or its pace.

It’s no secret, of course, that Ron Howard came to the rescue after Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, the film’s original directors, were fired after almost five months of principal photography. That may be another reason for Solo’s comparative lack of spark. The unifying vision here isn’t the screwball anarchy of Lord and Miller’s The Lego Movie and 21 Jump Street – more’s the pity. This is by-the-numbers filmmaking, competently executed because Howard is one of Hollywood’s most reliable journeyman directors. It works, sure, but very little of it actually inspires or intrigues, apart from a doozy of a final-act character revelation that arrives almost too late to make its mark.

The same could be said of its main cast. Ehrenreich is serviceable as Han Solo, largely because he doesn’t try to slavishly imitate or channel his predecessor. (That’s a wise choice, by the way – only Harrison Ford can do Harrison Ford.) But he doesn’t pop off the screen the way he does in arthouse films like Hail, Caesar! It’s almost as if he got the same studio note that was handed to Howard when he joined the production: play it safe, or else. Clarke is just barely okay as Qi’ra – she goes through the motions just fine, but doesn’t really manage to colour in the depth and darkness of her character beyond what is already there in the script.

At least there’s fun to be had where Solo’s supporting cast is concerned. Glover and Harrelson both have charisma to spare, and you might be forgiven for wanting to watch films centred on their characters instead. Paul Bettany – a last-minute addition to the cast when reshoots prevented Michael K. Williams from returning – gives excellent villain as Dryden Vos, a snarlingly avaricious crime lord with a mysterious connection to Qi’ra. As Tobias’ wife, Val, Thandie Newton is fantastic, but tragically underused.

It’s odd to come to Solo: A Star Wars Story after the overwhelming success of the latest entries in the Star Wars cinematic franchise. All of these films have their detractors, of course, but The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi and Rogue One each demonstrated narrative courage: a willingness to commit to the fresh and unexpected, in order to tell an old story in a new way. Solo marches off resolutely  in the opposite direction. This is a product hobbled by its heritage: cobbled together on the basis of and in tribute to past successes, with precious little insight of its own to offer.

 
Basically: A competent and watchable Solo adventure, but this incarnation of Han is unlikely to run away with your heart.

Magic Mike XXL (2015)

In the three years since its release, Magic Mike has infiltrated the cultural lexicon as shorthand for something racy, sexy and a tad naughty, generally involving gyrating male strippers whose performances are anything but kid-friendly. That’s actually rather ironic, since anyone who’s actually watched Steven Soderbergh’s film would know that the stripping wasn’t the point of his film at all. It was, in fact, window dressing for the rather dour drama surrounding its leading man. Magic Mike XXL hews far closer to its packaging. When the guys strip off and down, the film is a rousing crowdpleaser. When they don’t, it meanders through a close-to-plotless no-man’s-land, trying (and mostly failing) to recreate a little of the original film’s glum gravity.

Mike (Channing Tatum) has finally left the stripper game to set up his own furniture business. Things aren’t going too well when he meets up with his old stripper pals again, all of whom have have lost their jobs following the unceremonious departure of their seedy boss/handler (Matthew McConaughey’s magnetic Dallas, who doesn’t appear in the film). Resolving to go out with a bang at the upcoming stripper convention in Myrtle Beach, the guys embark on a road trip across America – one that brings them new inspirations and connects them with old friends.

As a film, there isn’t much to Magic Mike XXL. The plot is rickety, at best, purporting to explore the inner depths of these men but rarely getting below the surface. Mike is frustrated that his dreams haven’t worked out the way he thought they would; Ken (Matt Bomer) has bigger ambitions as an actor that fell by the wayside on his way to becoming a real-life Ken doll; ‘Big Dick’ Richie (Joe Manganiello) is afraid to break free of the routines planned for him by Dallas; Tito (Adam Rodriguez) wants to start up his own frozen yoghurt business. But very little of it rises above the level of inconsequential. Instead of tackling these ideas head-on, Reid Carolin’s script sidesteps them – either by listlessly providing Mike with a new, woefully underwritten romantic prospect (Amber Heard) or flinging in yet another frenetic dance sequence performed by a barely clothed man.

The road-trip aspect of the film plays out as a sort of bizarre fever dream, boasting a couple of good ideas that get worn out very quickly. When an accident robs them of both emcee and vehicle, Mike hooks up with Rome – a role originally written for a man, but far better when played with such savvy, sultry aplomb by Jada Pinkett Smith. There’s something quite thrilling about Rome’s dark, seductive establishment, clearly set up to give black women a safe space to indulge in flights of escapist fantasy. The dudes also blunder into an upper-class home filled with older white ladies – led by Andie MacDowell and her extreme Southern accent – all repressed and in need of a little sexual healing.

These are great, fun ideas to start with, hinting at the desires and sexuality of entire subsets of women who are usually forgotten by the mainstream media. But they lose both point and impact as the movie rambles on, unfolding in long, almost languorous stretches that would benefit from a little punch and editing. (Apologies, Mr. Soderbergh, but it’s true. And yes, it was Soderbergh who cut the film together under the pseudonym ‘Mary Ann Bernard’, and also doubled up as its cinematographer, Peter Andrews.) It doesn’t help, either, that director Gregory Jacobs – promoted from first assistant director on Magic Mike – favours a faux arthouse vibe for what is essentially an incredibly mainstream film: his actors mumble their way through not particularly meaningful bursts of dialogue, shot in portentous shadow when away from the spotlight and jockstraps.

What Magic Mike XXL does have going for it is, well, the stripping. Unlike the first film, which regales anyone who buys a ticket for the beefcake with healthy servings of moody drama about drained finances and male pride, the stripping is the unqualified highlight of this entire experience. Richie’s goofily sincere attempt to make a grim gas station attendant smile is as silly, charming and sexy as the huge set-pieces performed by Mike and his buddies when they finally make it to the convention. It’s impossible not to be tickled by the ways in which these guys strut their stuff and – in a nice, earnestly cheesy touch – do it all just to make ordinary women smile. After all, when presented in so altruistic a fashion, who could fail to be charmed by Tatum’s ultra-slick dance moves, Bomer’s beautiful singing voice, and Manganiello’s outrageously chiselled body?

If you’re hoping for a film that faithfully replicates Soderbergh’s more sombre, thoughtful Magic Mike, you’ll be sorely disappointed. The brooding drama and man-pain were, secretly, the point of the first film. In contrast, this looser, sillier and upsized effort – hence the XXL in the title – does exactly what it says on the tin and more. Indeed, it fumbles precisely when it tries to pump up its narrative with anything less flimsy than a G-string. Come purely for the eye candy, however, and you’ll be amply rewarded with many saucy, sexy scenes of scantily clad men dancing around, over and on top of utterly delighted women.

Basically: A dud dramatically, but a delight when the clothes come off.