Rampage

Incurious George

Grade: C –

Director: Brad Peyton

Starring: Dwayne Johnson, Naomie Harris, Malin Akerman, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jake Lacy, and Joe Manganiello

MPAA Rating: PG-13

Running Time: 1 hr. 55 min.

Look, we all love the Rock. Dwayne Johnson is this generation’s larger-than-life movie action star, so in exchange for flashing his smile and flexing his pecs, we’ve excused his cinematic transgressions, whether punching a missile in The Fate of the Furious, cracking bad puns in Baywatch, or doing whatever it is he did in The Tooth Fairy. But surely our tolerance level and related movie-going budget has its limits, and they’re put to the test in Rampage. The film begins with a mutated rat ripping apart a space station and ends with a pervy gorilla. In between, it’s brainless eye candy, a CGI creature feature that’s one part MonsterVerse, two parts Transformers.

Johnson plays Davis Okoye, a primatologist who used to be a special forces soldier because, well, of course he was. Davis’ best bud is an adopted albino gorilla named George, which communicates with Davis using sign language (although Davis conspicuously fills in the gaps using spoken English, somehow), which is an excuse for George to playfully and repeatedly shoot Davis the bird. When the aforementioned space station blows apart, three samples of its secret science experiment gone wrong fall to Earth. The pathogens are found and inhaled by George, a wolf in Wyoming, and an alligator in the Everglades. All three infected animals mutate in size, strength, and aggression as they begin to, well, rampage across the countryside.

For some reason, the woman (Malin Akerman) heading the corporation that developed the mutagenic serum thinks it’s a good idea to lure the creatures to their headquarters in downtown Chicago, ostensibly to administer an antidote, something that apparently couldn’t have been done in any remote, uninhabited part of the world. Thus charts the inevitable climax, which involves the most destruction visited upon the Windy City by animals since Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.

Davis is aided by defrocked scientist Dr. Kate Caldwell (Naomie Harris) and Harvey Russell (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), a pistol-packing, Texas-twanged spook who works for a mysterious government agency that Caldwell jokingly wonders might be “the Justice League.” OK, not to nitpick, but this seemingly minor quip is emblematic of Rampage’s uninspired ineptitude. First, Russell’s black suit and pencil tie make Men in Black the better joke. Watchmen also would have made more sense, since two members of that film’s cast, Akerman and Morgan (!) appear here. But I digress …

Nothing makes sense in Rampage, even if you suspend disbelief for the sake of its ludriciours plot, adapted from the video game series of the same name. Johnson reteams with his San Andreas director Brad Peyton, and if that’s not enough warning, the film regularly falls into that Transformers trap of returning to its campy, distractingly ubiquitous side characters, the sort of scene-chewers who always show up wherever the action is happening at that moment. And then there’s Dwayne Johnson—like George, the Rock is a behemoth trying his best to emulate regular human activity and culture. If only his films started making a similar effort.

Skyfall

No Licence for Old Men

Grade: B +
Director: Sam Mendes
Starring: Daniel Craig, Javier Bardem, Judi Dench, Ralph Fiennes, Naomie Harris, Albert Finney and Ben Whishaw
MPAA Rating: PG-13
Running Time: 2 hr. 23 min.

 During the latter half of Skyfall, Judi Dench’s M, testifying before a bureaucratic inquest declares that today’s true threats to safety and security are “individuals, not nations.” Punctuated by a passage from Tennyson’s Ulysses, the expertly edited scene plays like a commentary on our post-bin Laden world. However, the megalomaniac or terrorist-led organization was always the central villain throughout Ian Fleming’s James Bond books and the now-50 years of films they spawned, unlike most of Fleming’s Cold War spy novel counterparts.

It’s an allusion that’s likely intentional, for Skyfall is steeped in a nostalgia for cinema’s most enduring series. The indomitable iconography of the Bond films continues to make every new release an event. However, here it serves a more fundamental function. Whereas Casino Royale was a reboot of the Bond franchise, this represents a restoration.

Opening with a mistaken demise that harks back to You Only Live Twice, death and rebirth are the film’s overarching themes. Bond (Daniel Craig), a neurotic who word-associates “murder” with “employment” and “woman” with “provocatrix,” uses pills and drink to self-medicate demons dating back to some unresolved childhood trauma. He’s also a relic in the age of cyberterrorism where, to quote his new quartermaster (Ben Whishaw), “I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Meanwhile, M is a lioness in winter, on the eve of forced retirement after a computer list of undercover NATO spies is stolen and slowly leaked online.

Beginning with the hunt for a disposable henchman that leads to bedding a disposal Bond girl, Skyfall tracks the familiar tropes. It also teeters on the tedium of the Brosnan years until the arrive of Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem), once M’s favorite MI6 agent given up for dead, but now resurrected as a cyberterrorist burdened with a facial prosthetic and single-minded desire for reprisal against his former minder. Ernst Blofeld is the most iconic Bond villain, but Silva is the most demonic, a devilish dandy that suggests a blond-haired Anton Chigurh with charisma. Trying to off M is bad enough, but it takes pure evil to go out of your way to destroy Bond’s Aston Martin DBS.

The supporting cast also includes Ralph Fiennes as an intelligence overseer and Albert Finney as Kincaide, the gamekeeper at Bond’s titular family estate. But the real stars of Skyfall are Craig, Bardem and cinematographer Roger Deakins. While still the portrait of brooding intensity, Craig also shows a relaxed and more self-assured side, much like Sean Connery’s evolution as Bond from Dr. No through Thunderball. Deakins, the nine-time Oscar nominee, takes a Bond movie and makes a visual spectacle, from a rooftop motorcycle chase through Istanbul to the neon silhouettes atop a Shanghai skyscraper to a lantern-lit flotilla in Macau to the cold blue hues of a decaying pastoral manse (by way of Surrey, England). 

In its eagerness for homage, Skyfall makes a bigger jumble of the Bond timeline (particularly a film-ending reveal). However, chronological purity goes out the window once you accept a protagonist who never ages, even over 50 years. The biggest quibble is that, despite a number of memorable scenes and plot turns, the screenplay from Oscar nominee John Logan plus Bond regulars Neal Purvis and Robert Wade isn’t tightly organized or particularly subversive beyond Bardem’s Silva. The spiritual three-way between Bond, Silva and M is teased out but never consummated to its delicious potential. Moreover, Skyfall could have dovetailed off Casino Royale to further redefine James Bond. Instead, it settles for reintroducing him. Anyway, welcome back, old friend.

*Originally published at www.indyweek.com