“But … are you Thor, god of … hammers?” Thor: Ragnarok

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Marvel Studios’ latest – Thor: Ragnarok – is about as delightful a film to come from the Marvel/Disney machine as we’ve yet seen.

Marrying the free-wheeling whimsy of Ant-Man with the trippy nothing-is-too-zany visual style of Dr. Strange, layering in the heart and humanity of the Captain America films, and playing off the wackadoodle Shakespearean promise of Kenneth Branagh’s first Thor, director Taika Waititi (Hunt for the Wilderpeople) nonetheless delivers a completely unique vision and a superhero flick for the ages.

There is nary a shred of evidence of the micromanaged focus-grouping that seems to have plagued other entries in Marvel’s now 17-movie strong cinematic universe: the unfunny, overbaked narrative mush of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2; the ponderous “how-many-action-figures-can-we-cram-into-this-for-merchandising” clutter of Avengers: Age of Ultron; the just plain dull-as-dishwater “end-is-nigh” pretense of, yes, Thor: The Dark World.

No, Thor: Ragnarok belies its title with a light-as-air zip and a screwball comic touch that plays beautifully to star Chris Hemsworth’s Cary-Grant-trapped-in-Tab-Hunter’s-body charms. Hemsworth’s gift is in simultaneously embracing the absurd and the self-serious, mining Thor’s lovable arrogance in uncertain circumstances for “fish-out-of-water” laughs. Akin to Shakespeare’s better “history” plays (say, Henry IV with its introduction of the iconic Falstaff), Ragnarok honors the operatic complexity of its source Norse mythology by juxtaposing the light and the dark, the goofy and the grand, to play out the prodigal son’s/hero’s quest to overcome both palace intrigue and the intoxicating lure of interstellar adventure to find his proper path to the throne.

The film shouldn’t work as well as it does. Waititi is obviously fueled by a love of the corny sci-fi box office bombs that littered HBO’s schedule in the early and mid 80s (post-Star Wars) like Krull, Beastmaster, Flash Gordon, Buckaroo Banzai, and so on – movies that I myself watched in a constant loop, attracted to the gonzo so-bad-it’s-great storytelling and campy visuals. In fact, Mark Mothersbaugh’s Moog-synth score sounds like it was written for an arcade game in 1983. And that’s a fabulous thing. (There is also an epic use of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” in segments that bookend the film. It’s a touch that not only enlivens the two sequences in which the tune is used but adds a nice layer of meta commentary – “we come from the land of the ice and snow” – about finding one’s home and one’s place in this world.)

However, Waititi isn’t on a nostalgia trip; he isn’t interested in self-indulgence. Rather, with a Howard Hawks-esque (Bringing Up Baby) command of pacing, set-up, visual jokes, and patter, Waititi delivers a character-driven romp that celebrates a lost soul embracing his destiny and learning a touch of humility along the way. Of course, in this case, the lost soul happens to be the Norse God of Thunder and a superheroic Avenger who pals around with the Hulk, but that’s beside the point. Odin (a wry Anthony Hopkins) consoles his son at one point, when Thor is bemoaning the loss of his magic hammer Mjolnir, “But … are you Thor, god of … hammers?”

The plot is almost impossible to encapsulate, but I’ll try. Thor and brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston reclaiming the smarmy twinkle that made the character such fun initially) are on a search to find their father Odin who is hiding out in Norway. Early on, they encounter Benedict Cumberbatch’s Dr. Strange in a witty cat-and-mouse sequence that telegraphs that Ragnarok won’t be your typical Marvel flick.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Eventually, Loki and Thor discover that their father has concealed both a dark history from them and the existence of a sister Hela (Cate Blanchett, all slither and swagger and having a devil of a good time) who has returned to Asgard to take over the universe and wear some really fierce eyeliner and multi-horned headgear. Thor and Loki get shunted by Hela to Sakaar, a planet of garbage and misfit toys, where Jeff Goldblum’s Grandmaster runs a Let’s Make a Deal-meets-Gladiator “Contest of Champions.” (This is the best use of Goldblum’s insidious, out-sized, googly-eyed demeanor in years.)

Lo and behold, Thor’s old buddy The Hulk (Mark Ruffalo fully embracing the sweet/sour rampaging baby characterization from the Avengers films) is somehow on Sakaar too. The boys fight; they make up; they fight again; and eventually, with the aid of new compatriot Valkyrie (Tessa Thompson bringing the boozy, bossy fun), return to Asgard and save the day (more or less) from Hela’s machinations. Whew.

Oh, and Karl Urban (Star Trek, Dredd, Pete’s Dragon) pops up as Hela’s right-hand thug Skurge the Executioner, and, as always, Urban brings a nuanced inner-conflict and a compelling screen presence to a character who in lesser hands would have been a screaming, raving slab of testosterone. One day, I’d like to see him in a movie that doesn’t require special effects, if they make those any more.

In the end, though, the film is a showcase for Hemsworth’s effervescent wit and steroidal comedy and for Waititi’s sure-handed cinematic voice and eye-popping visuals. Hemsworth is at a difficult career crossroads: a household name actor in international box office blockbusters who doesn’t yet seem like a star. Perhaps this turn will change that. If not, he and Waititi need to team up again posthaste and, maybe this time, sans capes. Hemsworth is that rare performer – a beautiful human specimen with the comic genius of an ugly duckling. Waititi is that rare director – one who loves all films and has an encyclopedic knowledge of the best and the worst but deftly avoids self-indulgence and derivativeness. As Goldblum’s Grandmaster says in response to Thor’s use of his lightning powers, “Out of your fingers … was that, like, sparkles?” Indeed, Hemsworth plus Waititi generate nothing but cinematic sparkles. Here’s hoping for more.

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[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Reel Roy Reviews is now TWO books! You can purchase your copies by clicking here (print and digital).

In addition to online ordering at Amazon or from the publisher Open Books, the first book is currently is being carried by BookboundCommon Language Bookstore, and Crazy Wisdom Bookstore and Tea Room in Ann Arbor, Michigan and by Green Brain Comics in Dearborn, Michigan.

My mom Susie Duncan Sexton’s Secrets of an Old Typewriter series is also available on Amazon and at Bookbound and Common Language.

“What if this man is your Hasselhoff?” Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Marvel movies always suffer a bit from sequelitis. The first entry in any given super-franchise of theirs always has a fizzy independent spirit and a distinct point of view that resonates, even amidst the blockbuster marketing hype and merchandising mania. Invariably, the second entry arrives a bit bloated, a bit self-satisfied, over-playing the light froth that worked the first time around, under-playing the humanity that connected, and over-stuffing the proceedings with far too many “special guest stars” and comic geek catnip “Easter Eggs.”

Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2, directed again by James Gunn, tries to have its cake and eat it too, embracing these follow-up pitfalls in one cheeky meta nod after another (even the title itself) while never really skewering them enough to keep the flick from feeling focus-grouped within an inch of its life.

All your favorites return: Chris Pratt has Han Solo-esque fly boy Peter Quill/Star-Lord, Zoe Saldana as sardonic a**-kicker Gamora, Dave Bautista as cuddly nihilist Drax, Bradley Cooper voicing Ed-Asner-in-raccoon form Rocket, and Vin Diesel voicing the now adorable (and very marketable) tree creature Baby Groot. We even get flinty Michael Rooker back as Quill’s loved/hated proxy daddy Yondu and perpetually sullen Karen Gillan as Gamora’s thundercloud sister Nebula.

Oh, but if that’s not enough – Kurt Russell, being his most blow-dried Kurt Russell smarm/charm self, shows up as Quill’s “birth” father “Ego, the Living Planet.” (Yup, your read that correctly.) And Sly Stallone keeps popping up as some kind of somnambulant Jiminy Cricket to failed space pirate Yondu.

There are a race of video game playing golden hued Oscar Statue clones – the Sovereign – led by a Cate Blanchett-aping Elizabeth Debicki as their queen Ayesha. Chris Sullivan from This is Us appears as a crabby mutineer with the regrettable name  Taserface. Sean Gunn from Gilmore Girls nips at the edges as Yondu’s turncoat major domo Kraglin. And Pom Klementieff is the most welcome new addition as Ego’s aide-de-camp Mantis, an naive empath whose heart is as big as her anxiety and ignorance.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

The film, like any space opera, is choppy and episodic, hopping from one interchangeable  MC Escher-over-designed planet to another, one ear-rattling nausea-inducing firefight to the next, as our band of scruffy misfits bicker and squabble on their way to discovering the “important life lesson” that we anticipated from beat one.

Guardians, Vol. 2 opens with a CGI-de-aged Russell wooing Star-Lord’s mother in 1980, all feather-coiffed and hot rod convertible Mustang’ed swagger. The strains of the admittedly addictive “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl,” seeping through every corner of the theatre’s immersive Dolby Surround Sound.  The first film left us with the question: who is Star-Lord’s father?

Alas, the sequel already answered said question in the ubiquitous television ads that have been airing since January’s Super Bowl. And as for the actual narrative impulse of Guardans, Vol. 2? It aims to compel us amidst the flat-one-liners and scatalogical digs that family doesn’t make us but rather we make the family we want. However, hitting us over the head with a homily just gives the audience a headache, not enlightenment.

At one point, Gamora (Saldana) reminds Quill (Pratt) of a story he had shared with her previously: that, as a boy, he told the other children at school that his real father was David Hasselhoff, the “great” actor of TV who drove a talking car and possessed the “voice of an angel.” She then queries, “What if this man [Kurt Russell – ‘Ego’] is your Hasselhoff?” It is a genuinely sweet/sad/funny moment, the kind the original film had naturally in spades – lovable in its absurd earnestness. Unfortunately, with Vol. 2 the set-up is far too labored, making the poignant punchline an afterthought – even including Hasselhoff himself in a couple of unnecessary cameos after this exchange AND adding a weird Hasselhoff disco-ditty to the film’s available-at-Target-now soundtrack. Talk about gilding the lily.

I believe Gunn had the best of intentions, taking mythological/Freudian father/son God complex fixations and running them through a madcap Friz Freleng blender, in the hopes of crafting a hero’s quest that was as irreverent as it was moving. It just didn’t work for me. And that makes me sad.

Early in the film, Drax (Bautista) cautions Quill on the ways of love that there are “those who dance and those who do not.” I enjoyed the film just fine, but it felt far too much like work and I felt far too exhausted when  I exited the theatre 2.5 hours (and five?!? bonus mid-credits scenes) later. There are movies that dance – Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 1 – and there are those that don’t – Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2. Next time, let’s hope the gang is a bit lighter on their feet.

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[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Reel Roy Reviews is now TWO books! You can purchase your copies by clicking here (print and digital). In addition to online ordering at Amazon or from the publisher Open Books, the first book is currently is being carried by BookboundCommon Language Bookstore, and Crazy Wisdom Bookstore and Tea Room in Ann Arbor, Michigan and by Green Brain Comics in Dearborn, Michigan. My mom Susie Duncan Sexton’s Secrets of an Old Typewriter series is also available on Amazon and at Bookbound and Common Language.