AVATAR: THE WAY OF WATER

Stars: Sam Worthington, Zoe Saldaña, Stephen Lang, Britain Dalton, Sigourney Weaver, Cliff Curtis, Joel David Moore, CCH Pounder, Edie Falco, Jemaine Clement, Giovanni Rabisi, Kate Winslet and Brendan Cowell.
Writers: James Cameron, Rick Jaffe and Amanda Silver.
Director: James Cameron.

Rating: ★ ★ ★

 Screened Wednesday, December 15 at Event Cinemas George Street, Sydney, on VMax 1 screen at High Frame Rate projection in Dolby Atmos.

Avatar: The Way of Water has splashed down amidst a wave of pre-promotion that has zeroed in on the dazzling eye-candy offered by its watery alien landscape; a marketing blitz imploring us to deep dive into an azure wonderland, its spectacular grandeur subliminally promising to satiate the wanderlust that has brewed within us all over the pandemic years. Top Gun: Maverick soared to box office glory on jet plane joy rides beyond the clouds; James Cameron’s long-in-production sequel hints at a similarly pure escapism, this time underwater.

And the visual splendour that Cameron’s obsession with all things aquatic promises is delivered upon. His photo-realistic rendering of the forest home of the Na’vi and then the coastal realm of the Metkayina, as well as the glistening hi-tech hardware of the ‘Sky People’ (aka, the human colonists), is all-encompassing and often remarkably beautiful. The island of At’wa Attu, the idyllic tropical wonderland to which Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), now a human/Na’vi half-breed, and his wife Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña; pictured, above) flee with their four children, is like a Planet Maldives. The unified world of the sea creatures and the indigenous clan is a One Planet wet dream, an exaltation of the denizens of the deep and the bond they share with the Maori-like community, led by Tonowari (Cliff Curtis), Ronal (Kate Winslet; pictured, below) and their own teenage children.

But the stultifying 192 minute running time demands that Cameron and co-writers Rick Jaffe and Amanda Silver put meat on their CGI bones, and it is in the narrative structure and dialogue that the first of four planned sequels doesn’t hold water. The arc that propels the story centres on the previously-perished Col. Quaritch (Stephen Lang), resurrected and re-engineered as a Marine/Na’vi hybrid, who is offered a second shot at Sully (now, essentially a deserter/traitor in military terms) and Neytiri, who killed his human form over a decade ago. Quaritch makes his way to At’wa Attu in typically ruthless style, utilising the Sully kids and the native population as leverage whenever he can. The inevitable confrontation between Sully and Quaritch plays out over a final 50-odd minute third act that is pure Cameron in its scale and staging.

Quaritch and his Marine unit offer up the kind of alpha-human action movie ‘bad guy beats’ that Cameron and his imitators mastered and discarded as tropeish decades ago. Similarly, Sully and his ‘Family is our Fortress’ schtick is one-dimensional to the point of distraction, robbing Worthington and especially Saldaña of the emotional engagement they established in the first film, both with each other and the audience.

The groaningly uninteresting second act, in which the Sully kids - teenage wannabe-warriors Neteyam (Jamie Flatters) and Lo’ak (Britain Dalton), daughter Tuk (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss) and adopted daughter, Kiri (Sigourney Weaver) - struggle to be accepted by their tribal peers, devolves into sequence after sequence of rite-of-passage underwater adventures, with blossoming teen romance and beautiful dangers around every coral reef; it’s The Blue Lagoon-meets-any number of already-forgotten YA stories that have come and gone since this film went into production, melded with a travelogue-like fetishistic self-admiration for the colours and wildlife it conjures.

The most troubling take-away from Avatar: The Way of Water is that of James Cameron exhibiting self-referential indulgences. While his creative energies have been ignited by the thrill of crafting groundbreaking interplanetary wonders, Cameron rehashes the Marine unit dynamic and weaponry hardware of Aliens; the teen-hero exploits of Terminator 2 Judgement Day; the luminescent underwater wonders of The Abyss; and, the water-will-have-its-way inevitability of Titanic. Factor in the often overly reliant inspiration it draws from its predecessor, and one can’t help feeling that the team of contributors who have helped visualise the Avatar universe have spent too many workshop hours under the tutelage of their boss. 

I’ve ultimately fallen on the side of positivity and rated Avatar: The Way of Water based on its status as a visual effects groundbreaker. Viewed in the crystal clear ultra-high-definition 3D afforded those lucky enough to see it in a high frame rate presentation, the film is a visually transcendent work, as close as mainstream cinema has come to a virtual-reality feature (despite the failings of The Hobbit as a HFR experiment, I’m now sold on the tech). If only James Cameron had loosened his technician’s labcoat and rediscovered the joys of storytelling with the same crisply etched clarity of his images.

JURASSIC WORLD DOMINION

Stars: Chris Pratt, Sam Neill, Laura Dern, Bryce Dallas Howard, Isabella Sermon, Jeff Goldblum, Campbell Scott, DeWanda Wise, Mamoudou Athie, Omar Sy, BD Wong, Dichen Lachman and Justice Jesse Smith.
Writers: Colin Trevorrow and Emily Carmichael; from a story by Derek Connelly and Colin Trevorrow; based on characters created by Michael Crichton.
Director: Colin Trevorrow

Rating: ★ ½

Aside from a fleeting diversion to the Bering Sea, where a deep sea monster balances out the oceanic life ledger by sinking a fishing trawler, the sixth Jurassic franchise film opens in a faux 4:3 ratio. This allows for a montage of evening news clips and CNN types talking about how hard it’s become to live with dinosaurs since they integrated themselves into human society, a promise of things to come that we glimpsed at the end of 2018’s Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (who names these films??). 

The audience, rightfully expecting an opening that sets hearts pounding from frame 1 (like what Steven Spielberg did with some ferns and a bunch of guys in hi-vis helmets, back in ‘93), is instead napalmed with information concerning the industrialization of genetic science and the government agency controlling the increasingly dangerous problem and blah, blah, blah. It is a clumsy, crappy opening to a summer blockbuster, but it sure sets the tone for the 150 minutes to follow.

Director Colin Trevorrow, once thought the man to forge a new path for all things JP, then segues his already convoluted narrative into, of all things, a big bug movie; genetically mutated locusts, as large and disgusting as house cats, are destroying crops all across America, except those planted by ‘Big Farmer’ conglom BioSyn, a Monsanto-like corporation with designs on global food sector domination. It’s an early bit of stupid plotting (how long before investigators establish that link?), but is by no means the most egregious, indicating Trevorrow and co-writer Emily Carmichael are happy to jettison logic in favour of maintaining momentum.

The problem that faces the writing pair, however, is the number of characters they are going to have to juggle to keep us invested in if they want to see out the film’s hook - uniting the key cast members from both iterations of the Jurassic film eras in a trilogy-encapsulating final chapter. Paleobotanist Ellie Satler (Laura Dern) is called upon to bust open the bug conspiracy, providing an entry point for OG everyman hero Alan Grant (Sam Neill). Dr Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum) has let his ethical firewall slide in the intervening years; he’s now consulting for CEO Lewis Dodgson (Campbell Scott, a fitting physical appropriation for the original “Dodgson!”, Cameron Thor), allowing Ellie and Alan passage into the villainous hi-tech BioSyn lair.

Of the Jurassic World ensemble, we are reunited with dino-whisperer Owen Grady (Chris Pratt, bringing his patented ‘ironic blandness’ in spades) and Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard), now guardians for mopey teen DNA fleshpod, Maisie Lockwood (Isabella Sermon). They live in the woods, sharing the wilderness, often uncomfortably with raptor heroine ‘Blue,’ who has ‘found a way’ to have a calf, called ‘Beta’. When kidnappers take Beta (for her black market value) and Maisie (for her bridging DNA strands), Owen and Claire enlist the aid of JW#1 callback Barry Sembene (Omar Sy), now a French undercover agent, to get them access to Malta's thriving, illegal underground dinosaur marketplace.

Is anyone still reading this? Because it’s exhausting to recall and boring to write, and I still haven’t got to DeWanda Wise’s tough-talking mercenary pilot Kayla Watts; Mamoudou Athie’s naive corporate shill, Ramsay Cole; Dichen Lachman’s cold-hearted black marketeer Soyona Santos, whose chilly, OTT glamour seems more suited to Bond villainy; or an insufferably mopey B.D. Wong, returning to the fold as original JP geneticist, Dr Henry Wu. Worse still, the script allows each support player feeble and time-consuming character arcs and earnest dialogue; at one point, I turned to my equally-dejected movie mate and said, “I wish everyone in this film would just shut up!” 

It is at this juncture that you have every right to ask, “Uh, we are going to have some dinosaurs…in your…in your dinosaur movie review? Hello?”, given that it was exactly the question I whispered to myself as the mighty beasts of prehistory found themselves being shunted into the background of their own film series. New species turn up, including an impressive beast called Giganotosaurus (“The biggest carnivore that ever lived,” says Dr Grant, in one of many ‘Golly Gee!’ dog-whistle moments for the franchise-primed target audience), but Trevorrow mostly just drops them into the path of our heroes, who dodge them with scant regard for their status as ‘alpha predators’. 

This seemingly endless parade of hoops through which to jump is a built-in reference to the plot machinations of the series that demands our heroes travel from point A to point B, dino-dodging the whole time. But even in the much-maligned Jurassic Park III (finally casting off its ‘Worst of the Franchise’ tag), the protagonist’s trek held some degree of menace, some ‘imminent threat’ element that provided an often very basic but undeniable tension and sense of adventure. That never manifests in Jurassic World: Dominion, a bloated 2½ hour plod that is unforgivably dull and irreconcilably misjudged.

AMBULANCE

Stars: Jake Gyllenhaal, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Eiza González, Garret Dillahunt, Keir O'Donnell. Jackson White, Olivia Stambouliah, Moses Ingram, Colin Woodell and A Martinez.
Writers: Chris Fedak, Laurits Munch-Petersen and Lars Andreas Pedersen
Director: Michael Bay

Rating: ★ ★ ½

Compared to the action monoliths for which he’s famous, in-your-face noisemakers like Armageddon, Pearl Harbour and the Transformers film, Michael Bay’s Ambulance is his version of an arthouse chamber drama. At its core is the story of three people, confined and needing to understand each other in order to survive.

And that is how he establishes his narrative over the course of a terrific first hour. Returned soldier and dedicated family man Will Sharp (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) is in dire financial need; his wife, balancing a newborn son on her hip the whole film, has an uninsurable disease and Will can’t secure steady work. As a last resort, he reaches out to his adopted brother, Daniel (Jake Gyllenhaal), who promises to help out if Will also does him a favour - be the fourth man in a bank robbery crew that promises a $32million payday.

These early scenes smartly establish character traits, motivations, personalities. The heist goes off the rails in a spectacular sequence that rivals Michael Mann’s downtown LA shoot-out in Heat for visual immersion and sound design. In a final act of desperation, Danny commands an EMT vehicle as a getaway car, complete with tough-gal paramedic Cam (Eisa Gonzalez, the film’s biggest plus) and bleeding-out cop Zac (Jackson White).

And then things get stupid. Instead of tightening the screws on his three leads, Bay goes big and broad in his pursuit of his Bay-hem brand. The movie spins off into idiotic Fast-&-Furious terrain when Danny calls in his Mexican Gang caricature mates, who happen to have a muscle-car with a gattling gun they’re willing to part with. All these empty action calories and Bay’s tendency to double- then-triple down on the faintest whiff of anything emotional blows the run time out to over 2 hours, which proves grotesquely self-indulgent.

The cracking first hour will be enough to carry most action heads through to the end, but Bay’s fleeting interest in his human scenery is dispiriting. After 30 years making empty-vessel spectacles, the tiresome, shallow grind that Ambulance becomes suggests Bay’s detractors - those that claim he’s never been particularly interested in his characters unless they’re holding a gun or a steering wheel - are probably spot-on. 

UNCHARTED

Stars: Tom Holland, Mark Wahlberg, Antonio Banderas, Sophia Ali, Tati Gabrielle and Steven Waddington.
Writers: Rafe Judkins, Art Marcum and Matt Holloway.
Director: Ruben Fleischer

Rating: ★ ½ 

I vaguely knew Uncharted was a successful video game series and that fans have been frothing at the mouth over a bigscreen reworking of the adventures of petty crim Nathan Drake and his recruiter, sly ol’ treasure hunter Victor ‘Sully’ Sullivan. I do know that they haven’t been pining for this film, it’s fair to say.   

It’s been 20 years since Drake (Spidey himself, Tom Holland) has seen his older brother Sam, so when Sully (Mark Wahlberg) promises both a huge payday and some hope for the bros to reunite, Drake is all in. Two bejewelled amulets are the keys to a series of adventures, first in the tunnels below San Sebastian, where they are joined by fellow adventurer Chloe Frazer (Sophia Ali), then to the tropical island resting place of the bounty they seek - all this while, dodging ruthless billionaire Santiago Moncada (Antonio Banderas) and the blade-wielding Braddock (Tati Gabrielle).

Wikipedia describes the gameplay as “jumping, swimming, climbing, swinging from ropes, shooting, combat, puzzle solving, driving, boat riding, and other acrobatic actions.” In that regard, the film has people doing all those things. But there is little connective tissue between the character and their actions; like the game, it feels like Drake and Sully just have to go through this bit to get to that bit. Holland and Wahlberg are repeatedly made to look like not-quite the action film buddies they were paid to be.

An obvious template is being employed here to transfer the platform game format into a movie, or at least back into a movie; the game was apparently a riff on globe-hopping adventures like Raiders of the Lost Ark and National Treasure. That partially explains the ‘copy-of-a-copy’ dullness, a film so relentlessly derivative, so cut from the shopworn, tatty cloth of dozens of better films, it never finds its own reason-for-being. Instead, it just creaks and groans towards its CGI-cartoon conclusion. 

Ultimately I could care less about this plodding dirge of a film but I do want to point out the most dispiriting thing about this whole mess. Every villain that is trying to derail our white-guy heroes is a) a woman, and/or b) a ‘foreigner’. It is wildly ironic that the only references to the action-adventure films of the past that Uncharted mimics with any skill are the ugliest, most outdated elements.

GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS

Stars: Kyle Chandler, Vera Farmiga, Millie Bobby Brown, Ken Watanabe, Ziyi Zhang, Bradley Whitford, Charles Dance, Sally Hawkins, Aisha Hinds, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Thomas Middleditch, Anthony Ramos, CCH Pounder, Joe Morton and David Straithairn.
Writers: Michael Dougherty and Zach Shields.
Director: Michael Dougherty.

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ½

In 2014, director Gareth Edwards endeavoured to take schlockbuster icon Godzilla down the same credibility path that Marvel guided their goofy comic-book properties; the resulting film was beautiful and earnest and a bit dull. Five years later, new-kid-on-the-studio-tentpole-block Michael Dougherty punches up the action (and the decibels) while dumbing down the dialogue in Godzilla: King of the Monsters. If the look of the big lizard and his fellow fantasy titans owes much to Edwards’ eye, the script harkens back to Roland Emmerich’s ear, it being attached to the writer/director of Sony's much-maligned 1998 incarnation.

The sequel picks up four years after the destruction of San Francisco by Godzilla’s wrath. The government agency Monarch is getting drilled by the U.S. Senate for not having found and offered up the head of the big lizard for the damage it had done. What the Senate committee members don’t know is that the Monarch team are not only tracking Godzilla, but have several other ‘titans’ in lockdown at key sites around the world. Scientist Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga) lords over one such site, in China; she lost her son in the 2014 San Fran attacks, her husband Mark (Kyle Chandler) to booze in the wake of their tragedy, and clings to strong-willed teen daughter Madison (Millie Bobby Brown).

Emma is overseer of an audio-pulse generator called The Orca, which streams a frequency that controls her titan, the larval stage behemoth that will ultimately take flight as Mothra. Just as it begins to stir, a mercenary outfit led by the ruthless Jonah Alan (Charles Dance) storms her outpost, stealing Orca, Mothra, Emma and Maddy. With a surly Mark now back on board, the Monarch team – stern lead scientist Dr Serizawa (Ken Watanabe); offsider Dr. Chen (Ziyi Zhang); wisecracker Dr Stanton (Bradley Whitford); and, nerdy bureaucrat Coleman (Thomas Middleditch) – need to retrieve The Orca and save mankind from Emma, who has gone full-Thanos with a plan to wipe the planet of the virus that is mankind and restore the human/titan balance.

The whip-smart mind behind cult items Trick ’r Treat (2007) and Krampus (2015), Dougherty works hard to give all these cast members something to do and say. He has them address each other in a combination of mostly single-line observations or exclamations that largely serve to move the plot from one kaiju-related predicament to the next. There is no character depth or dimension – so cornball is some of the dialogue it recalls the Irwin Allen disaster epics of the 1970s – but it does ensure the real stars of the film are not offscreen for too long.

Most dominant amongst the mythological beasties is the three-headed King Ghidorah, a dragon-like lightning-breather who has it in for our leading man-monster from the get-go; barely freed from his icy tomb, Ghidorah battles it out with Godzilla in one of the loudest and most visually stunning/confusing action sequences in recent memory. We are soon introduced to Rodan, a pterodactyl/hawk crossover-creature who lays waste to a Mexican town when it emerges from its dormant volcano tomb, and the ethereal shimmering wingspan and deadly spikes of the aforementioned Mothra. Each has their own moment in the spotlight, with their human co-stars largely reduced to looking upwards and dodging debris; perhaps best served is Stranger Things’ breakout star Brown (pictured, above), who earns her ‘real world emoting’ badge when given the screen time to do so.

Of course, it’s all about the beast that is Godzilla in any Godzilla movie, and Dougherty and his effects team have conjured a titan who balances a screen persona that is equal part ‘rampant destroyer of cities’, ‘noble ally of the righteous’ and ‘scaly, snarling action hero’. If you’re paying for a ticket to a Godzilla movie, what needs to work most of all is your anti-hero’s rock ‘em/sock ‘em presence, and King of the Monsters gets that right. If Edwards’ big lizard was a bit too precious with the property, and Emmerich’s a bit too flippant, Dougherty respects both the B-movie beats of the big guy’s film history as well as the environmental subtext that Godzilla has always represented.

CAPTAIN MARVEL

Stars: Brie Larsen, Jude Law, Samuel L. Jackson, Ben Mendelsohn, Lee Pace, Gemma Chan, Mckenna Grace, Djimon Hounsou, Clark Gregg, Lashana Lynch and Annette Bening.
Writers: Anna Boden, Ryan Fleck and Geneva Robertson-Dworet.
Directors: Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck.

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★

Despite a slightly-too-convoluted origin narrative that will mean more to the comic-book devotee than the audience member for whom a single yearly dose of MCU is sufficient, Captain Marvel overcomes some wobbly first half pacing to deliver all that is really required of the modern heroic-crusader blockbuster. That is, a protagonist, unsure of their true identity, is set on a course of self-discovery during which they reconcile with their past, learn the good truth about their destiny and max out the potential of their superpower while saving a city/planet/galaxy. What separates the best from the worst in the MCU is that which is mined beyond of the studio's rigid template and, as the first female lead character in the franchise, writer/directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck identify plenty of fresh thematic angles to explore. 

Coming from a background of gritty, uplifting character pieces (Half Nelson, 2006; Sugar, 2008; Mississippi Grind, 2015), the pair's deployment by Marvel Studios was to serviceably craft a solid, ‘real’ hero in Carol Danvers/Captain Marvel. In Oscar-winner Brie Larson, they achieve that, even if at times her stoicism feels a bit stodgy. While everyone around her is getting the great one-liners and soaking up the spare-no-expense extravagance of their time-shifting/interplanetary setting, Larson hunkers down to provide the film’s emotional as well as heroic core; it’s a task that plays somewhat thankless at times. That said, when called upon to don the superheroine duds, smash villains and integrate with the green screen techies and stunt unit, she comes alive.

The opening act barrels through the world building with a "Hey, pay attention!” urgency that threatens to leave distracted patrons lost.  We meet our heroine (‘Vers’, as she’s known to her special-op combat team) as she stirs from a restless sleep; her head is full of fragmented images, all that is left of what seems like several past lives. On her home planet of Hala, she is one of the Kree, a race beholden to the ‘Supreme Intelligence’ and fighting the shape-shifting Skrull hordes (phew). When her unit, led by the never-not-evil Jude Law, is ambushed, she is flung across time and space, landing in a Blockbuster video store in downtown LA in the mid 1990s.

With young S.H.I.E.L.D. grunt Nick Fury (a digitally smoothed-over Samuel L Jackson) quickly settling into her sidekick role, Vers starts to piece together her own timeline while fighting off Skrull leader Talos (an unrecognisable and terrific Ben Mendelsohn) and his henchmen. A mid-section trip to Louisiana to rekindle a friendship with ex-pilot buddy Rambeau (Lashana Lynch) is a bit talky and the forward momentum sags. But as Danvers’ journey towards an understanding of her past and the inevitable emergence of the titular heroine progresses, the third act builds convincingly towards the stirring effects spectacle finale associated with the franchise.

The pre-release web-posturing of some sectors of the community looks even more churlish and pathetic upon the film’s release. While Larson’s portrayal is one of chiselled moral and physical sturdiness (as have been those of the men in the MCU since Day 1), Boden and Fleck do not hammer home a politicised perspective. Instead, they provide contemporary commentary with some crackling social satire (“Tell the Supreme Intelligence that this time of wars and lies will soon be over”) and draw upon the femme-skewed cast to refreshingly explore character and drama in a manner respectful and honest to the gender. Captain Marvel is not the blunt-force challenge to the accepted norms that Ryan Coogler's Black Panther came to represent, but it's a potent statement of intent. The challenge will be incorporating her into the male-centric Avengers films, where laddish oafs with waning appeal like Tony Stark and Peter Quill still occupy centre stage.

The 90s setting provides for some sweet nostalgia, including a soundtrack of skilfully appropriated tunes (No Doubt’s I’m Just a Girl, the pick of them) and pop culture riffs sure to further transition away from the now-distant 80s as The Retro Decade of Choice. In the standard MCU 'Ageing Icon' role previously filled by the likes of Robert Redford, Jeff Bridges, Ben Kingsley, Michael Douglas, Michelle Pfeiffer and Nick Nolte is the stunning Annette Bening, ideally cast as 'Supreme Intelligence' (even if some of her dialogue seems reluctant to leave her mouth at times).

Fittingly, the passing of Marvel creator Stan Lee was acknowledged with a sweet, simple message in the film’s opening frames, which was greeted with instantaneous applause by the audience.