Jurassic World Rebirth: Yawn of the Dinosaurs

Jonathan Bailey and Scarlett Johansson in Jurassic World Rebirth

Do people still like dinosaurs? The box office data would seem to say so, but the deflated characters of the new Jurassic World movie aren’t so sure. “Nobody cares about these animals anymore,” bemoans Dr. Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey), the curator of a prehistoric museum with flagging attendance. Shortly before, we learn that a brachiosaur has escaped from confinement in New York City, yet while the sight of a mighty beast roaming the Big Apple’s sidewalks might have once provoked astonishment or panic, now it results in a simple traffic jam. The return of ancient “terrible lizards” to contemporary civilization is no longer cause for wonder or terror. It’s just an annoyance.

The chief innovation (or regression) of this latest episode in the Jurassic World franchise—which is subtitled Rebirth, and which has been directed by Gareth Edwards from a script by David Koepp—is that it’s aware of its own potential obsolescence. Now that hulking computer-generated monsters are pro forma in mainstream cinema, a new Jurassic flick has little hope of conjuring the sense of majesty that accompanied Steven Spielberg’s 1993 classic. So despite some cheeky references to that picture—the shot of a car’s mirror with its famous “Objects are closer than they appear” warning; a faded banner proclaiming “When dinosaurs ruled the earth”—Rebirth doesn’t attempt to match its conceptual grandeur or vast ambition. It’s a blockbuster about huge creatures that keeps things relatively small. Read More

F1: Rogue Fun, a Car Wars Story

Brad Pitt and Damson Idris in F1

Pay attention to the tennis balls. As a middle-of-the-road racing picture, F1 supplies the expected zoom-zoom accoutrements: checkered flags, roaring engines, heavy tires frantically drilled into mighty chassis. But the most symbolically meaningful piece of sports paraphernalia on display is the set of yellow-green spheres that the film’s hero routinely bounces against a wall in order to test his reaction time. His facility may be equipped with a fancy electronic dummy that measures responses down to the millisecond, but he has no need for such new-age flourishes. He’s old-school.

So, in some ways, is F1, even if its presentation is also robustly contemporary. As a piece of storytelling, the movie is painfully obvious and familiar—a clumsy grab-bag of buddy comedy, underdog melodrama, and other hoary templates. But despite its thinness and its predictability, F1 isn’t without its durable pleasures. It has been muscularly directed by Joseph Kosinski, and it affords the satisfaction of watching talented actors execute their assignments with warmth and precision. Read More

28 Years Later: The Secret Life of Zombies

Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Alfie Williams in 28 Years Later

If you thought Danny Boyle’s zombies were fast, wait until you see his editing. Back in 2003, Boyle’s 28 Days Later infused the cinematic undead with new and decidedly speedier life; unlike the plodding and implacable flesh-eaters immortalized in George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead and its progeny, these creatures were frenzied and enraged, rushing after our human characters with haste as well as determination. Not all of the monsters in 28 Years Later, Boyle’s return to the franchise, are so athletic—a new species of beast called slow-lows lumber through the vacant countryside like sickly golems—but the pace of his filmmaking mirrors the deranged vigor of his most rapid marauders. One of the scariest things about zombies is that they never tire—they are always craving their next meal—and when it comes to pure energy, Boyle similarly exhibits no signs of slowing down.

Whether his skill matches his verve is another matter. For much of its first half, 28 Years Later adopts a style that proves less exhilarating than simply exhausting. The camera (often an iPhone) whipsaws through the scenery, attempting to mimic the characters’ rising heart rates and sowing chaos in the process. When arrows pierce the brains of rampaging zombies, Boyle invariably reshows the tearing of viscera from a different angle, like we’re watching a marksman’s overzealous highlight reel. Most curious is the hyperactive editing, which repeatedly splices the main action with bygone footage of antiquated warfare, like goose-stepping German troops or medieval British archers from Laurence Olivier’s adaptation of Henry V. It’s a historical seminar crossed with a Jason Bourne movie. Read More

Materialists, The Life of Chuck, and the Pleasure of Brute Force

Dakota Johnson and Pedro Pascal in Materialists; Annalise Basso and Tom Hiddleston in The Life of Chuck

Movie critics are supposed to crave subtlety. We like to complain about obviousness, whether it appears in the form of voiceover, backstory, or exposition. Bluntness is axiomatically amateurish; true artistry lies in the oblique, the implied, the invisible.

I’m mostly joking, even if I acknowledge that I’m not immune to this sort of rhetoric. But directness in cinema can be satisfying, provided the story is told well. Last weekend saw the release of two new movies, Materialists and The Life of Chuck, which exhibit a plainspoken quality that’s more appealing than insulting. They wear their hearts on their sleeves and get yours pumping in the process. Read More

The Phoenician Scheme: The Hand Grenade’s Tale

Mia Threapleton, Benicio Del Toro, and Michael Cera in The Phoenician Scheme

Wes Anderson’s movies are so meticulously constructed, it’s easy to overlook that they also tend to be explosive, messy, and violent. It takes all of 30 seconds into The Phoenician Scheme, his latest lavishly imagined whirligig, before someone gets literally blown in half by a missile. Not long after, the picture’s unscrupulous hero, an entrepreneur named Zsa-Zsa Korda (Benicio Del Toro), emerges from the wreckage of a plane crash, trying to stuff a protruding organ back inside his body. Over the picaresque adventure that follows, Korda will face flaming arrows, gun-toting guerillas, duplicitous spies, overcooked pigeons, and a pit of quicksand. He’s the unflappable eye of a fastidiously unstable hurricane.

That all of this mayhem unfolds in the context of Anderson’s characteristic rigor—a method of careful framing, crisp camerawork, and filigreed production design—isn’t really a product of dissonance. Rather, The Phoenician Scheme harmonizes control and commotion. Anderson’s style is often pejoratively deemed fussy, but his exacting craft doesn’t drain the life from his filmmaking. Quite the opposite: The rich colors, the sharp wordplay, and the impeccable ornamentation all coalesce to imbue the proceedings with urgency and vivacity. In this heightened alternate reality, precision generates momentum. Read More