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G.I. Joe: Retaliation

(2013)

The best thing about the generally crappy G.I. Joe: The Rise of the Cobra was the subplot involving the infiltration of the Whitehouse. It gave Jonathan Pryce, never one for underplaying, a chance to take centre stage. It was also one of the few parts of the movie that didn’t encourage Stephen Sommers to bounce off the walls like the ADD, taste-free scourge of cinema he is. So it’s welcome news that the sequel continues with that thread. And, with John M Chu at the helm, it’s certainly better assembled than the first movie. But it says something that, for all the action stars assembled here, the only character to have any real impact is played by Ray Park. And you can neither see his face nor hear him.

Until he is swallowed up during the third act, I was enjoying Park’s masked maestro Snake Eyes. Park has all the moves and then some, of course, but it was mainly the sheer bonkers bravura of the character that kept me interested. I found myself questioning how the Hollywood machine didn’t spit out a revised Snake Eyes, completely altered from his toy persona. If Judge Dredd takes his head gear off, surely Snake Eyes will doff his helmet and engage in a sparkling dialogue with some lovely lady. Instead, he’s this ever-imposing, black-clad silent knight. Presumably he always wears this gear when he goes on a mission and never says a word. I’m astounded that he ever gets results; he’ll stick out like a sore thumb if he goes out in daylight or anywhere remotely populated. And, if he needs to interrogate someone, that speech impediment’s really going to put a cramp in his style. He’s conceptually unfeasible, basically, and the film’s all the better for his presence. It could have done with embracing a bit more of that silliness rather than ending up as just another action movie.

During the opening scenes, Channing Tatum’s Duke strikes up a good rapport with Dwayne Johnson’s Roadblock, but once Johnson’s left playing against bland D. J. Cotrona the chemistry fizzles. There’s only so much renta-Johnson franchises can take to spice them up, and his charisma isn’t best served here. Back when the first film came out I barely registered the lovechild of Stockard Channing and Tatum O’Neal; four years later when he absents the screen he creates a void.

So who better to fill it than Bruce Willis, wisecracking his way through every scene like he did in his heyday? You remember the first Die Hard and Last Boy Scout. Unfortunately it’s not that Bruce Willis. This is the same Willis who’s more intent on drifting stony faced through cameos (see also The Expendables), unwilling to goof off in David Addison mode. Apparently Bruce is responsible for the friendly sparring between his’ “original Joe” and Adrianne Palicki’s Jaye. You just wish much more could have been made of it. Willis does deliver the odd funny line (although you’ve heard the best if you’ve watched the trailer), but this is further evidence that he’s spent the last decade pissing his career away (Wes Anderson aside).

Then there are the villains. Byung-hun Lee is saddled with the most ridiculous character development as Storm Shadow; it’s very much on the “Doh!” spectrum. Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s non-return sees Cobra Commander voiced and performed by two different people and Chris Eccleston was never coming back even if the first movie had received Best Picture Oscar. Arnold Vosloo returns, eager for work, but it’s little more than a cameo. So that leaves Ray Stevenson, whose Firefly has the bulk to take on Roadblock but little else. Stevenson seems preoccupied with his lousy Southern accent and fails to inject any fun into the proceedings; it’s left to Pryce to make the villains sell the menace of Cobra (he gets to “hang out with Bono” and even makes a line like “You know, they call it a waterboard, but I never got bored” kind of work).

Chu’s direction isn’t bad; certainly good enough to wrench himself from the doldrums of directing Step Up movies and Justin Bieber documentaries, but he never manages to give the film as a whole much momentum. Individual sequences work fine, but that’s all they are. You’re not invested in getting anywhere with the plot so before long listlessness sets in. Even the fight on the cliff face, which looked like the highlight from the trailers, doesn’t quite have the thrill it ought.

There are a few daffy elements to note; more emphasis on that tone might have made for more memorable results. Storm Shadow undergoes a healing process that involves a curious mixture of Eastern magic/medicine and science. There’s an early training session between Jinx (Elodie Yung) and Snake Eyes that’s also big on the Eastern wisdom, with RZA presiding as a blind master. It verges on Austin Powers self-parody but, alas, it’s played deadly straight.

A movie this mindless obviously has no worthwhile pretentions of making statements about the state of the planet. Cobra’s world domination gambit is particularly ridiculous. But I did wonder if there was some modest propaganda in there. The whole premise is a celebration of the US armed forces after all, even if in a somewhat adulterated way. So North Korea is established as an out and out enemy in the first scene, while Pakistan is identified as incredibly weak (you can steal their nukes and kill their president in the blink of an eye). I’m not sure what the mass destruction of London is about, but Roland Emmerich would be proud. Then there are the shout-outs to the greatness of Patton; the whole movie desperately needed to have its tongue firmly in its cheek, but there’s only the odd wink.

A third instalment is inevitable, as the Hasbro brand has managed to expand its appeal overseas (to the tune of $100m on top of Rise of the Cobra’s gross). It seems that Chu is attached, and he’ll no doubt refine his skills. But the series really needs a shot in the arm in the script department, and to embrace its essential absurdity.

**1/2

Comments

Duffy. That old tangerine hipster.

Duffy (1968) (SPOILERS) It’s appropriate that James Coburn’s title character is repeatedly referred to as an old hipster in Robert Parrish’s movie, as that seemed to be precisely the niche Coburn was carving out for himself in the mid to late 60s, no sooner had Our Man Flint made him a star. He could be found partaking in jaundiced commentary on sexual liberation in Candy, falling headlong into counter culture in The President’s Analyst , and leading it in Duffy . He might have been two decades older than its primary adherents, but he was, to repeat an oft-used phrase here, very groovy. If only Duffy were too.

You know what I sometimes wish? I sometimes wish I were ordinary like you. Ordinary and dead like all the others.

Séance on a Wet Afternoon (1964) (SPOILERS) Bryan Forbes’ adaptation of Mark McShane’s 1961’s novel has been much acclaimed. It boasts a distinctive storyline and effective performances from its leads, accompanied by effective black-and-white cinematography from Gerry Turpin and a suitably atmospheric score from John Barry. I’m not sure Forbes makes the most of the material, however, as he underlines Séance on a Wet Afternoon ’s inherently theatrical qualities at the expense of its filmic potential.

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A ship is the finest nursery in the world.

A High Wind in Jamaica (1965) (SPOILERS) An odd one, this, as if Disney were remaking The Swiss Family Robinson for adults. One might perhaps have imagined the Mouse House producing it during their “Dark Disney” phase. But even then, toned down. After all, kids kidnapped by pirates sounds like an evergreen premise for boy’s own adventuring (more girl’s own here). The reality of Alexander Mackendrick’s film is decidedly antithetical to that; there’s a lingering feeling, despite A High Wind in Jamaica ’s pirates largely observing their distance, that things could turn rather nasty (and indeed, if Richard Hughes’ 1929 novel had been followed to the letter, they would have more explicitly).

You have done well to keep so much hair, when so many’s after it.

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My Doggett would have called that crazy.

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You’re a disgrace, sir... Weren’t you at Harrow?

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The best thing in the world for the inside of a man or a woman is the outside of a horse.

Marnie (1964) (SPOILERS) Hitch in a creative ditch. If you’ve read my Vertigo review, you’ll know I admired rather than really liked the picture many fete as his greatest work. Marnie is, in many ways, a redux, in the way De Palma kept repeating himself in the early 80s only significantly less delirious and… well, compelling. While Marnie succeeds in commanding the attention fitfully, it’s usually for the wrong reasons. And Hitch, digging his heels in as he strives to fashion a star against public disinterest – he failed to persuade Grace Kelly out of retirement for Marnie Rutland – comes entirely adrift with his leads.

I tell you, it saw me! The hanged man’s asphyx saw me!

The Asphyx (1972) (SPOILERS) There was such a welter of British horror from the mid 60s to mid 70s, even leaving aside the Hammers and Amicuses, that it’s easy to lose track of them in the shuffle. This one, the sole directorial effort of Peter Newbrook (a cameraman for David Lean, then a cinematographer), has a strong premise and a decent cast, but it stumbles somewhat when it comes to taking that premise any place interesting. On the plus side, it largely eschews the grue. On the minus, directing clearly wasn’t Newbrook’s forte, and even aided by industry stalwart cinematographer Freddie Young (also a go-to for Lean), The Aspyhx is stylistically rather flat.

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