I am a werewolf, not a Golden Retriever.

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones

(2013)

(SPOILERS) This might be the least glorious of the endless line of Young Adult fiction adaptations of late. Which is saying something, given their at best modest merits. Adapted from the first of Cassandra Clare’s fantasy series (of six), The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones sports a mish-mash of familiar destiny-based and more-than-human tropes, without ever once crossing into anything distinctive and individual in its own right. The at once over-portentous and underwhelming title says it all.

Tangentially, the subtitle also evokes memories of one of the Marvel Star Wars comics. Death in the City of Bone found the post-Empire Strikes Back rebels on the trail of Han Solo and encountering Mandalorian warriors (a much more interesting backstory for Boba Fett than the prequel trilogy came up with) and assorted bounty hunters (Dengar, Bossk). I digress, but I don’t think I can really be blamed.

Lily Collins, she of Phil’s loins and the enormous eyebrows, is Clary, who discovers the world she assumed to exist holds so much else besides when she begins seeing a strange symbol and feels the urge to draw it everywhere (this rune-obsession is about as memorable as the picture gets) Before long, she and dweeby best friend Simon (Misfits’ Robert Sheehan) are introduced to demon-slaying half-angel Shadowhunters (or Nephilim; let’s put it this way, neither Clare and screenwriter Jessica Postigo Paquette nor David Aronofsky make the most of mythic possibilities of the Biblical moniker) and an ex- of their kind who is after a special cup. Along the way, we meet witches, werewolves, vampires and… not an ounce of the wit or verve that Joss Whedon brought to Buffy (which is where the current form of the supernatural teen genre really begins) or even a sliver of the mopey introspection that fuelled the Twilight series.

This is basically a mixture of Buffy elements (nerdy best friend who secretly loves the oblivious/disinterested heroine, enough creatures for a whole season of that show, an English professor/mentor, a blonde haired British bad boy), Twilight (love triangle) and, weirdly, Star Wars (the is-it-or-isn’t-it incest between possible brother and sister – given that this seems intentional rather than the result of a rethink, it’s remarkably tepid stuff – and the long lost parent as uber-villain). There’s also a werewolf (played by the vampire from Being Human, Aiden Turner). The teen angst bullshit is by way of Lost Boys leathers; in fact everything looks wholly generic and appropriated. It should be little surprise that Harald Zwart, the guy behind Pink Panther 2 and The Karate Kid remake called the shots. I say called, but this bears all the signs of a movie (what there is of it) accumulated in the editing suite. Zwart seems to have little idea how to work in the widescreen format; there’s an absence of clear framing and staging, and when he’s in doubt he decides to place an emotional power ballad high in the mix, in the hope that uplift will carry him through.

His casting abilities are mostly bereft. Collins is no more of the next big thing than she was in Mirror Mirror. He’s picked two of the most preening and pouty English actors around, who just happen to be significantly short on real charisma, in Jamie Campbell Bower (really struggling with the rebel bravado) and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (he gets a lot of villain parts, so he really should have learnt how to play them by now). Some of the supporting players might have lent a bit of gravitas if the whole production wasn’t so choppy and shapeless. Jared Harris is always great, and threatens to bring a tortured soul to the proceedings (there’s an interesting idea that his curse of agoraphobia may be a product of his imagination but either it isn’t followed through or I’d lost interest by the time it was paid off). C. C. H. Pounder effortlessly dares anyone sharing a scene with her to rise to the challenge (no one can). Kevin Durand enjoys himself as a blockhead minion of Meyers. There’s also Lena Headey as Clary’s mum; one suddenly remembers she can play sympathetic characters.

Obviously the producers wanted sequels, and even with my faltering level of interest I could tell numerous threads are left unexplored. This seems more glaring than in some of the other doomed franchise-starters from last year (The Host, Beautiful Creatures) and the yen of the makers to get going on another caused them to get a little ahead of themselves, announcing a sequel (featuring Sigourney Weaver) before the receipts have even been counted on a movie few went to see and even fewer held in any regard. If the sums somehow make sense at some point (it’s difficult to see how, unless it sold a lot of rentals and made a bundle from TV rights) their best shot is to ditch Zwart and half the cast. Actually, scratch that. It’s yet another series that probably should have found a home on TV but, while there’s a chance that the next property might be a Hunger Games, they’ll keep on opting for big screen first.

*1/2

You were this amazing occidental samurai.

Ricochet (1991) (SPOILERS) You have to wonder at Denzel Washington’s agent at this point in the actor’s career. He’d recently won his first Oscar for Glory , yet followed it with less-than-glorious heart-transplant ghost comedy Heart Condition (Bob Hoskins’ racist cop receives Washington’s dead lawyer’s ticker; a recipe for hijinks!) Not long after, he dipped his tentative toe in the action arena with this Joel Silver production; Denzel has made his share of action fare since, of course, most of it serviceable if unremarkable, but none of it comes near to delivering the schlocky excesses of Ricochet , a movie at once ingenious and risible in its plot permutations, performances and production profligacy.

He’ll regret it to his dying day, if ever he lives that long.

The Quiet Man (1952) (SPOILERS) The John Wayne & John Ford film for those who don’t like John Wayne & John Ford films? The Quiet Man takes its cues from Ford’s earlier How Green Was My Valley in terms of, well less Anglophile and Hibernophile and Cambrophile nostalgia respectively for past times, climes and heritage, as Wayne’s pugilist returns to his family seat and stirs up a hot bed of emotions, not least with Maureen O’Hara’s red-headed hothead. The result is a very likeable movie, for all its inculcated Oirishness and studied eccentricity.

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

Well, something’s broke on your daddy’s spaceship.

Apollo 13 (1995) (SPOILERS) The NASA propaganda movie to end all NASA propaganda movies. Their original conception of the perilous Apollo 13 mission deserves due credit in itself; what better way to bolster waning interest in slightly naff perambulations around a TV studio than to manufacture a crisis event, one emphasising the absurd fragility of the alleged non-terrestrial excursions and the indomitable force that is “science” in achieving them? Apollo 13 the lunar mission was tailor made for Apollo 13 the movie version – make believe the make-believe – and who could have been better to lead this fantasy ride than Guantanamo Hanks at his all-American popularity peak?

Haven’t you ever heard of the healing power of laughter?

Batman (1989) (SPOILERS) There’s Jaws , there’s Star Wars , and then there’s Batman in terms of defining the modern blockbuster. Jaws ’ success was so profound, it changed the way movies were made and marketed. Batman’s marketing was so profound, it changed the way tentpoles would be perceived: as cash cows. Disney tried to reproduce the effect the following year with Dick Tracy , to markedly less enthusiastic response. None of this places Batman in the company of Jaws as a classic movie sold well, far from it. It just so happened to hit the spot. As Tim Burton put it, it was “ more of a cultural phenomenon than a great movie ”. It’s difficult to disagree with his verdict that the finished product (for that is what it is) is “ mainly boring ”. Now, of course, the Burton bat has been usurped by the Nolan incarnation (and soon the Snyder). They have some things in common. Both take the character seriously and favour a sombre tone, which was much more of shock to the

You think a monkey knows he’s sitting on top of a rocket that might explode?

The Right Stuff (1983) (SPOILERS) While it certainly more than fulfils the function of a NASA-propaganda picture – as in, it affirms the legitimacy of their activities – The Right Stuff escapes the designation of rote testament reserved for Ron Howard’s later Apollo 13 . Partly because it has such a distinctive personality and attitude. Partly too because of the way it has found its through line, which isn’t so much the “wow” of the Space Race and those picked to be a part of it as it is the personification of that titular quality in someone who wasn’t even in the Mercury programme: Chuck Yaeger (Sam Shephard). I was captivated by The Right Stuff when I first saw it, and even now, with the benefit of knowing-NASA-better – not that the movie is exactly extolling its virtues from the rooftops anyway – I consider it something of a masterpiece, an interrogation of legends that both builds them and tears them down. The latter aspect doubtless not NASA approved.

Drank the red. Good for you.

Morbius (2022) (SPOILERS) Generic isn’t necessarily a slur. Not if, by implication, it’s suggestive of the kind of movie made twenty years ago, when the alternative is the kind of super-woke content Disney currently prioritises. Unfortunately, after a reasonable first hour, Morbius descends so resignedly into such unmoderated formula that you’re left with a too-clear image of Sony’s Spider-Verse when it lacks a larger-than-life performer (Tom Hardy, for example) at the centre of any given vehicle.

He doesn’t want to lead you. He just wants you to follow.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore (2022) (SPOILERS) The general failing of the prequel concept is a fairly self-evident one; it’s spurred by the desire to cash in, rather than to tell a story. This is why so few prequels, in any form, are worth the viewer/reader/listener’s time, in and of themselves. At best, they tend to be something of a well-rehearsed fait accompli. In the movie medium, even when there is material that withstands closer inspection (the Star Wars prequels; The Hobbit , if you like), the execution ends up botched. With Fantastic Beasts , there was never a whiff of such lofty purpose, and each subsequent sequel to the first prequel has succeeded only in drawing attention to its prosaic function: keeping franchise flag flying, even at half-mast. Hence Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore , belatedly arriving after twice the envisaged gap between instalments and course-correcting none of the problems present in The Crimes of Grindelwald .

So, you’re telling me that NASA is going to kill the President of the United States with an earthquake?

Conspiracy Theory (1997) (SPOILERS) Mel Gibson’s official rehabilitation occurred with the announcement of 2016’s Oscar nominations, when Hacksaw Ridge garnered six nods, including Mel as director. Obviously, many refuse to be persuaded that there’s any legitimate atonement for the things someone says. They probably weren’t even convinced by Mel’s appearance in Daddy’s Home 2 , an act of abject obeisance if ever there was one. In other circles, though, Gibbo, or Mad Mel, is venerated as a saviour unsullied by the depraved Hollywood machine, one of the brave few who would not allow them to take his freedom. Or at least, his values. Of course, that’s frequently based on alleged comments he made, ones it’s highly likely he didn’t. But doesn’t that rather appeal to the premise of his 23-year-old star vehicle Conspiracy Theory , in which “ A good conspiracy theory is an unproveable one ”?

I have done some desperate, foolish things come 3 o'clock in the morning.

Sea of Love (1989) (SPOILERS) It’s difficult to imagine Sea of Love starring Dustin Hoffman, for whom Richard Price wrote the screenplay but who bowed out over requests for multiple rewrites. Perhaps Hoffman secretly recognised what most of us don’t need telling; there’s no way he fits into an erotic thriller (I’m not sure I’d even buy him as a cop). Although, he would doubtless have had fun essaying the investigative side, involving a succession of dates on the New York singles scene as a means to ensnare a killer. Al Pacino, on the other hand, has just the necessary seedy, threadbare, desperate quality, and he’s a powerhouse in a movie that, without its performances (Ellen Barkin and John Goodman may also take bows), would be a mostly pedestrian and unremarkable entry in the then burgeoning serial killer genre. Well, I say unremarkable. The rightly most-remarked-upon aspect of the murder mystery side is how unsatisfyingly it’s resolved. Sea of Love is so scant of r

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