Originally Posted February 19th, 2012

Imagine, if you will, a man of mystery. He’s someone you hire, a mercenary of sorts, and he’s often employed by powerful and wealthy corporations. His job takes him around the world to fulfill contracts that usually involve gunfights, car chases and explosions. And he’s known only by a codename. I’m of course talking about McG, director of two Charlie’s Angels pictures, a mostly tolerable football melodrama, and the red-headed stepchild of the “Terminator”franchise, Terminator Salvation.

McG’s style, so to speak, emphasizes the kind of shallow and insubstantial gratification you often associate with another brand of mass consumption starting with "Mc". So it’s really not surprising that his latest film, This Means War, continues the tradition of all-encompassing vacuousness. The real shame is that even without the shackles of franchises and true stories, McG still decided to make This Means War play like a bland remake/sequel to an entire genre; specifically, bad romantic comedies designed for an insidiously strategic strike on those deflated by another unfulfilling Valentine’s Day.

The vitriol of that sentence might have some of you pumping the brakes on your evening plans but others might be a bit confused. Isn’t this that movie about the two spies who abuse their professional skills and gadgets in order to sabotage one another when they wind up dating the same girl? That statement is all true, but the spy element is so brutally squandered, it’s practically an afterthought. Prepare yourself for a film straight out of a parallel universe where Stephanie Meyer cribbed most her ideas from Ian Fleming instead of Anne Rice.

It’s the age old dilemma that targets two of the four quadrants of film marketing, while flipping off the other two: which ridiculously hunky guy do I want? The one posing that question is Lauren Scott, a well-off urbanite who just can’t seem to get her love life together, despite the fact that she has a stable job, good friends, and is played by the obscenely cute Reese Witherspoon. Looks alone aren’t an indicator of relationship potential, but remember, this is a McG production, so physical attractiveness is the only trait of interest.

The beau’s vying for Mrs. Scott’s affections are the equally stunning Tom Hardy and Chris Pine, best friends and co-workers, but polar opposites so as to cover as wide a swath of romantic tastes as possible. Pine is the libidinous playboy alpha male with a tragic past (think Capt. Kirk, minus the heroism), who lives under a literal glass ceiling that’s somehow more demeaning than the figurative one. Hardy is then tasked with playing the sweet but sensitive yin to Pine’s cock-sure yang, complete with an adorable son and an ex-wife that he still holds a flame for. Is it a spoiler when basic character descriptions practically scream out how the film’s big “quandary” will be resolved?

Now there’s actually something grimly funny about the CIA funding an expensive and clandestine pissing contest, supported perhaps by the film’s blithe disregard for the morality of misappropriated public funds, institutional use of torture, and the existence of a surveillance state. Intercepting every phone message and private conversation a woman has is really just a logical progression of Facebook stalking in the writer’s eyes. But make no mistake; the spy trappings are really just there to make the boys look dreamier by virtue of having the world’s sexiest job.

Granted, McG’s opening action sequence atop a Hong Kong hotel is such a blur of messy choreography and poor CGI that you understand why he’d opt to fill the movie with date scenes instead of shootouts. Lauren’s double trouble all but causes every scene to repeat itself, once with Hardy’s Tuck, and then again with Pine’s Frank. The dates are designed as eye candy, plain and simple, whether they’re set in one of those clubs that only exist in liquor commercials, an intimate warehouse filled with Gustav Klimt paintings, or at Lauren’s tooth-rottingly colourful office. It would remind you of a circus, were there not already a carnival date scene that proves clowns know how to paint using earth tones.

Obviousness is the film’s cardinal sin, the bad cologne pervading every clichéd romantic entanglement and cookie-cutter action sequence. When Lauren keeps a paintball gun levelled strictly at the crotch-ular region, is there any question as to the safety of Tuck’s genitals? Even the soundtrack is employed as a giant slap in the face; as if a montage of Frank and Tuck interfering with each other would leave audiences confused as to their intent, The Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” grinds away in the background.

At least the leads look like they’re enjoying themselves, so if nothing else, This Means War avoids coming off as desperate. It’s certainly guilty of pandering at every comedic beat and never has the gall to pull the trigger on an idea that’s insightful or original, but then again, fast-food filmmaking like this is designed for ease of digestion. It’s perhaps because of its own bottom-feeding ambitions and disposability that This Means War can stay safely among other cinematic confectioner, as easily forgotten as it is consumed.

2 out of 5

Directed by McG

2012, USA

Well Bat-boys and Bat-girls, it's finally here. After years of internet speculation, months of binging on promotional material, and more than a few movie tickets bought as a shameless excuse to watch the new trailers, The Dark Knight Rises is here. Christopher Nolan's genre redefining take on the Batman mythos glides into theatres aloft on the praise of audiences and critics alike, but faces the infamous foe that is the finale. So, have Nolan and company stuck the landing, or is the burden of expectation too great to bear? Is The Dark Knight Rises the "Return of the King" or a super disaster of Spider-Man 3 proportions?

The answer is… it's "Jedi". "Rises"is to The Dark Knight saga what Return of the Jedi was to "Star Wars." Wait, wait! Douse the torches and sheath your pitchforks; there are no fuzzy teddy bears or toy tie-ins to be found here, the comparison is meant as a compliment. As many of us had hoped, Bruce Wayne's journey as the caped crusader Batman comes to a definitive, satisfying end, synthesizing the character study that was Batman Begins with the greater thematic aspirations of The Dark Knight into a package that feels whole and complete. Some will find a few niggling questions remain unanswered and criticize the door being left ever so slightly ajar for someone else to pick up the franchise mantle, but it's clear that Nolan but it's clear that Nolan has stretched this comic book adaptation/myth making exercise to its absolute limit.

But just like "Jedi" however,the payments made to satisfying the grander narrative are at the expense of the final instalment itself. The huge shift in scope and ambition between parts I and II created a gulf for the trilogy as a whole that "Rises" spends most of its first act filling in. There's a lot of catch up to play when returning to Gotham eight years after Batman shouldered the blame for Harvey Dent's crimes at the end of The Dark Knight, and everyone's out of their element. As Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) struggles to maintain a lie that cleaned up Gotham's streets, Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) retreats further into solitude in his rebuilt Xanadu of Wayne Manor, having retired from nights of jumping off of rooftops to nurse a broken heart and a lack of purpose.

With great speed, a bevy of new players enter to shake up the peace. There's Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillar), an alluring CEO looking to save the world by getting into bed with Wayne industries, John Blake (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a rookie cop who understands Bruce better than anyone, and Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway), a jewel thief looking for a fresh start with a new identity. But the real catalyst for Batman's return is a new threat, the hulking beast Bane (Tom Hardy), who rasps and wheezes like Vader through an analgesic mask, and has designs for Gotham nothing short of total annihilation.

An exhilarating and beautiful opening plane hijacking (as in, one plane lassoing another midair) launches things spectacularly, but early signs of turbulence come about from the half a dozen plot lines frantically racing towards their required destinations. The instances of contrivance and convenience that detracted from The Dark Knight pale in comparison to the happenstance on display here, and numerous scenes feel like nothing more than setup without the memorable quips and sardonic humour the first two scripts had at beck and call.

With "Rises," Nolan has completed the transition from superhero movie to all out epic, one describing a modern day apocalypse of dizzying magnitude. People talking about the film's awards potential could point to its "and the kitchen sink" approach to weaving in every contemporary boogeyman Oscar voters like to reward, from domestic terrorism and Wall st., to civil uprising and weapon proliferation. It doesn't meditate on these ideas too throughly, but keeps their presence a constant as the heroes and villains scramble toward a powerful finale, amping up the sense of dread and despair as Bruce Wayne faces his most agonizing trials yet.

But that's where the film finds its most focussed and satisfying through line, in closing out Bruce Wayne's story by exploring his dependence on his secret identity. It's fitting that the film comes out the same week as the remake of Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai, because that's how Bruce functions without the cape and cowl, as a warrior looking for a good death in a world that doesn't want him. With doting butler Alfred (Michael Caine) begging him to hang up the costume for good, Bruce's choice to fight evil physically instead of economically and socially comes into question. Through the endless plot turns, character moments and set pieces, one question comes to centre the film and the franchise as a whole: can Bruce Wayne overcome his inner demons and return to a world he gave up on, or is he destined to go down fighting as the Batman?

And it's a Christopher Nolan movie, which means thrilling action sequences (save for a criminally stupid continuity error during a motorcycle chase), gorgeous cinematography from Wally Pfister, and one haymaker of a late game twist that makes up for Bane's intimidating but not always engaging presence. And just as Nolan was the first to really understand Batman, Anne Hathaway's spot-on Catwoman is the sultry, badass addition such a solemn affair desperately needed. Having cleared the bar for our expectations so soundly in its first two instalments, it's no surprise that by the final chapter, The Dark Knight Rises ends Nolan's legend feeling all gassed out. But taken as a part of the greater narrative, its a rousing finish, an operatic swan song that's been earned. To hopefully use this tired old phrase one last time, The Dark Knight Rises may not quite be the finale the Dark Knight Saga deserved, but it's certainly the one it needed.

4 out of 5

The Dark Knight Rises

Directed by Christopher Nolan

2012, USA