Guardians of the Galaxy
(2014)
(SPOILERS) The smart money was on Guardians of the Galaxy being Marvel’s first underperformer. An
unknown property (until everyone had Googled it) with a decidedly non
Earth-bound setting and a focus on levity that made even the previously most
frivolous exchanges in their previous movies look po-faced. And a talking
raccoon. It was daring to be rejected. I certainly wasn’t convinced, much as I
liked the idea of a talking raccoon. James Gunn’s Slither didn’t tickle me the way it did many a geek, and the first
trailer failed to wow (again, it appeared I was in the minority) with an
uncertain sense of scale and an all-too brazen, post-Tarantino approach to
“cool” (plaster it with retro-hits). It looked like it was trying too hard. At
times the finished movie is trying
too hard, at others it isn’t trying hard enough, but it’s mostly great fun and
very funny, and a much-need mould-breaker in terms of the places Marvel is
willing to go. The main complaint is that it could go further; you can see the
suits reining Gunn in, making sure he fits their template, when he should have
been allowed to bust loose and fully deliver on the tale’s anarchic impulses.
It’s easy to be wise in retrospect, and the huge opening
weekend of Guardians (with a sequel
announced even before opening night; there’s confidence) now seems like a
foregone conclusion amid an underperforming summer filled of all-too familiar tent
poles. Guardians was something
different, in tone and spirit if not in narrative, and that was surely enough
to ignite interest above and beyond the Marvel brand. Marvel arguably laid the
groundwork back with Thor, gingerly
testing the waters for full-blown fantasy (Iron
Man is – relatively – very grounded in comparison) and then successfully
marrying accumulated disparate worlds in Avengers.
But for all the smart-mouthed knowingness Joss Whedon brought to the studio
(and he apparently recommended Gunn who, lest we forget, has two live-action Scooby Doos on his CV), Guardians represents a significant step
further out there. It doesn’t actually break the fourth wall, but it is seriously flirting with the idea at
times. How can it not, with a talking raccoon as a central character (whether
or not its presence in the story can be “logically” justified)?
The unbridled nature of much of Guardians leads back round to the question of why the hell Marvel
got such cold feet over Edgar Wright’s Ant-Man.
What could have put the willies up them about his take that made it so beyond
the pale when sat beside the near-wild abandon often displayed by Gunn? We know
there were fundamental differences in the notes, which Wright didn’t accept
somewhere along the way, and its probably safe to say these weren’t about sense
of humour or visual style. With the former, they’re getting a funny man to do a
rewrite and a comedy-associated director to pick up the fallen megaphone; with
the latter, why would you employ the guy if not for his distinctive flourish?
So no, it must be down to approach to story on some level. And that would make
sense, because as far as story goes Guardians
is about as generic and conformist as they come. You could pretty much prise
the characters from the plot and refashion it as an instalment of Thor without
anyone noticing. Big cosmic goings-on, a big nasty cosmic godlike being who
wants to get hold of a big cosmic weapon that promises dominion, and an
assortment of warrior underdogs rise to the challenge of beating him. It could
be Thor: The Dark World.
As such, the movie probably has the most fun in the
“assemble the team” first half. It certainly reels under the weight of the
identikit grafted-on CGI battlefest that consumes the third act. But even from
the off, it’s clear some elements won’t stick well. The prologue has young
Peter Quill plucked from 1988 as his mother dies (it’s as nauseous as it
sounds), before jumping 26 years to his piratical life and Indy-inspired theft of an orb of unknown properties. Which pits him
against the bad guys, results in a price being put on his head and so leads to
his imprisonment. Where the gang forms and (naturally) they slowly evolve from
self-interested rogues to rogues acting for the greater good.
The attempts to furnish characters with serious motivation
don’t really wash. Quill (Chris Pratt), or Starlord as he likes to be known (a
running, almost anti-Snake Plissken gag where no one has heard of his preferred
title), is devoted to the memory of the mother he lost, but it’s unnecessary
junk backstory and only gets a pass because Rocket Raccoon (as voiced by
Bradley Cooper) provides a withering dissection of such motivations later on.
Very noticeably this isn’t directed
towards Quill, but the less important Drax (Dave Bautista). Quill is also
foolishly provided with a destiny, which detracts from the bit-of-a-jerk,
bit-of-a-prat persona that Gunn would probably rather highlight. Quill has a
very high opinion of himself, his ways with the ladies, a capacity for
self-mythologising and a music obsession that treads the line between mockery and
getting on board with him being “cool”. It’s an aspect where Gunn occasionally
comes unstuck; when he’s mocking conventions he manages to make the movie itself
cool, but when he attempts to do “cool” stuff he occasionally ends up with
something faintly embarrassing. Look at the climactic confrontation, where
Quill distracts the villain by doing a cheesy dance (why not, I guess; it’s
almost quite clever, except that you feel it’s been done before somewhere) and then the Guardians join together to
overcome the devastating effects of the Orb in a rousing moment that, well,
isn’t really very. It’s moments like this when you realise how well Gunn has
unified the picture visually and tonally, given the dictates of standard heroics.
Still, there’s a feeling that Quill, by falling midway
between Indiana Jones, Han Solo and Jack Burton (and then, at the end, Luke
Skywalker) is being all things to everyone. Really Quill is a cool guy, great at fighting, a hit with the chicks, with just
a teensy bit of Jack Burton window-dressing. And, while Pratt is breezy and
funny, the raves about him being the next superstar feel a little premature (Jurassic World will be attempting to
cement this). He’s quick and witty, but he doesn’t have the encompassing presence
that, say Kurt Russell. Added to that, many of Quill’s gags rely on pop culture
references, which is aiming low and hitting the target. Maybe I’m being unfair
comparing Guardians to Big Trouble in Little China, but that
kind of genre deconstruction came to mind a number of times during the movie.
Gunn and Marvel are content to allow the side characters to summon that sort of
spirit, but when it comes to the lead they succumb to more traditional poses.
It’s the supporting cast, then, that make this the funniest
Marvel movie so far. Leading the pack is Rocket Raccoon, perfectly captured by
Cooper’s cocky verbal quick-fire and some wonderfully expressive CGI. A visual
cartoon and yet at once “believable”, Raccoon’s an unapologetically free spirit
(“You just wanna suck the joy out of
everything” he tells Zoe Saldana’s Gamora when she instructs him that no
one’s will be blowing up any moons), with a genetically enhanced intelligence
only matched by his capacity for mischief (sending Quill off to fetch a
prosthetic leg for a joke). And yet he also embodies the only real heart of the
movie (in an affecting, rather than a cloying or artificially enforced manner),
opining how he didn’t ask to be made, “torn
apart and put back together over and over and overturned into some kind of
monster” and breaking into tears over the loss of his beloved muscle Groot.
Most would probably agree Vin Diesel comes across a chipper
chap (except those who accuse him of blood sacrifices, that is) but few would
suggest he’s one of the brightest acting talents on the scene today. He has a
certain inverted charisma, an extremely shiny baldhead, and he rightly
recognises Riddick as a character to make the most of, but he’s done nothing to
suggest much range over the years. So how is it he has delivered two great
vocal performances as animated characters? First as the titular The Iron Giant, before anyone really
knew his name wasn’t some odd brand name of a non-specific clothing range, and
now as Groot, the eight-foot tall sentient tree that only ever utters three
words (well, four by the end of the movie)? Vin’s dedication to his art has
been noted by the director, that he wanted to make sure each “I am Groot” meant exactly what it was
meant to mean. And to be fair, even if his multi-take passion was probably
excessive (I’m sure Sir Tony Hopkins wouldn’t have laboured over it), Groot is
a wonderfully expressive character, and his bond with Rocket is touching (“Well he don’t know talkin’ good like me and
you” explains Rocket of his pal’s succinct nature), as is his wide-eyed
innocence. At once joyous at dispensing with bad guys and upset at a bar game where
small rodents are eaten, he has a vast quantity of soul. It’s a case of
actively being happy his self-sacrifice turns out not to be final, although I
could have done without the cabbage-patch kid look-a-like baby Groot bopping in
the just-into the credits scene. It’s way too cute and annoyingly
crowd-pleasing, almost as if it was thrown together after preview screenings yielded
adoring Groot groupies responses.
Many of the characters that aren’t actually CGI or Chris
Pratt are painted a funny colour. It’s an endearing recall to the days when
aliens in movies and TV were just actors sprayed orange or blue, and it feels
wholly right. Drax is lumbered with an Inigo Montoya-ish past and a quest for
revenge that, as mentioned, allows for some amusing plays on conventions while
toeing the expected line. Bautista (who also appeared in last year’s Riddick) deadpans his way through the
proceedings with aplomb, but it’s the jokey character tick that really sells
him to the audience (let’s face it, no one cares about his corny quest, as
Rocket all but says). When Rocket announces, “Metaphors go over his head”, he responds, “NOTHING goes over my head! My reflexes are too fast, I would catch it”.
That, and the line “Don’t ever call me a
thesaurus”. The cod-Shakespearian style is a great touch, as he manages to
be both erudite and literal (like
Spock but less cerebral and more muscly).
The other painted Guardian is the only girl in the gang.
Saldana’s Gamora is kick-ass, in true Whedon style, and Saldana is as likeable
and lovely a screen presence as ever, but there isn’t very much to distinguish her
character aside from some cool moves. It’s one of the Marvel problems. She’s –
almost – in the Leia role of reacting to the dashing rogue. One might label it
a “guy writing for girls” thing, but it was co-written with Nicole Perlman so
Gunn can’t take all the blame (I did like “I
will not succumb to your pelvic sorcery”). When it comes to the sequel,
it’s the nominally “classic” male-female leads that need the work; the other
three are great.
And it isn’t as if they’re the only problematic spots in
characterisation. I’m not sure what Lee Pace is on at the moment, but with this
and elves and vampires it appears that he is massaging his bank balance rather
than his acting chops. Ronan is an utterly banal villain, but name a really
good Marvel villain. No? He can’t really
be singled out then but if there’s one thing you can usually rely on in whacky
movies, it’s whacky villains. Rodan is a mighty snooze, while the lantern-jawed
Thanos (an uncredited vocal from Josh Brolin) is a no more interesting a boss
just because he sits on a mighty throne. I liked ex-Amy Karen Gillan more as
Nebula, not least because she looks quite alluring all blue and bald (the best
bald female alien since Ilia in Star
Trek: The Motion Picture… not that there have been a whole lot); unlike
Gamora the failure to serve her sufficiently as a character at least appears to
arise from an intention to have her as the silent, threatening type. Djimon
Hounsou has absolutely nothing to chew on.
Again, though, it’s in the gaps between major protagonists
and antagonists that Gunn has his fun. Michael Rooker as Yondu, the Ravager who
ripped Quill from his home and treated him kind-of-not like a son, has a ball delivering
an instantly recognisable Michael Rooker performance. You can tell Gunn likes
the character as he gets one of the few memorable action scenes in the final
act, taking out a horde of Kree with a whistle-directed arrow. Benicio Del Toro
mugs like he hasn’t since Fear and
Loathing in Las Vegas as the Collector. John C. Reilly makes a rather dull
good guy role upbeat and appealing. It’s not all good. Glenn Close is there to
take a big fat cheque for a couple of minutes of prestige actor slumming it;
she does the job. Peter Serafinowicz is a bit shit, really. He’s asked to play
an Arnold Rimmer type and he does as he’s ordered. I’m sure it was funnier on
the page (“I can’t believe I’m taking
orders from a hamster” might be the worst line in the movie). He should
stick to Darth Mauling in blockbuster sci-fi.
The by-numbers CGI overload of the last half hour or so is
put in perspective by how creative Gunn is with his action in the first third.
He not only pulls off some visually memorable moments in a “classic” sense
(Quill first appearing in his mask, the freezing in space), and does so with a
heightened colour palate and a zest and boldness in the framing and staging
(the action is clean and clear throughout, so kudos to him), but conjures
sequences that are both narratively creative and humorous to boot. The opening
venture has Quill crooning to a reluctant lizard before escaping in an
edge-of-the-seat and kinetic rollercoaster pursuit. When humour dictates the
action, Gunn as director is onto a winner, because he knows just where his
markers are. Even the idea of a joke,
rather than anything in the scene (Quill going back for his tape) is effective.
So it is that the most satisfying sequence occurs early on, as Quill, Gamora,
Rocket and Groot congregate for a batty slapstick back-and-forth as they
attempt to capture the orb and/or Quill. It’s such a sustained piece of comedy and action, it reaches a rarefied plane of
giddy enjoyment. The sort of thing Spielberg in his prime would have been proud
of. It’s all the more disappointing then that the picture forsakes such visual
wit long before the conclusion.
It’s a good sign a movie will do repeat business when you
know there are so many funny moments you can’t even begin to list them (there
are also more than a few duds, of course). A few choice ones include the
cosmonaut dog (who, obviously, survives; Gunn knows not to actively alienate
his audience), the “percentage of a plan” scene, the Howard the Duck cameo
(Seth Green uncredited; now, making a Howard
the Duck movie a hit, that would say something about Marvel’s Midas touch).
Although, if the Howard cameo had come at the end of Winter Soldier I’d have been really
impressed; after 120 minutes of a talking raccoon, one more anthropomorphic motor
mouth doesn’t really astound. In contrast, I think it’s a safe bet no one will
come away from Guardians raving about
the final battle Marvel threw millions at.
So, in its unique way, Guardians
of the Galaxy exemplifies the possibilities of Marvel while emphasising its
most restrictive elements. When so much is so creative, it wouldn’t really be
appropriate to try to excuse the blandest of Marvel movie plots so far as
intentional (so as to hang so much craziness on it, presumably). It didn’t need
to be. Where does this leave the superhero stock of the year so far? Well, Winter Soldier was great until it lost
its nerve, Spidey I know has been
announced as the new Batman & Robin
but I liked it even if trails in a distant last pace, and Days of Future Past achieved that rare thing; a really solid storyline.
Perhaps that’s why it peeks out just above, despite being part of a tired
franchise. Guardians may be
wisecracking rodent face of things to come, but if so it needs to let its
writer loose on the story beats and not just the characters and dialogue. Push
the envelope, guys. All third acts don’t have to be same. One day, a Marvel
movie might actually surprise with what transpires.
***1/2