Hercules
(2014)
(SPOILERS) If there’s one thing that can be relied on in
Hollywood, it’s Brett Ratner’s aptitude for turning any silk purse he stumbles
over into a sow’s ear. Ever since he plunged an all-star cast and great script
for Red Dragon into pungent mediocrity
(it’s okay, we’ve still got Manhunter),
there’s a fear that his each new project will be an opportunity for to dash
someone else’s potential. So far, we’ve escaped lightly. True, he desecrated
the X-Men franchise with Last Stand. But then there was the
not-bad Tower Heist (at least, it was
a sign the old Eddie Murphy still exists, so perhaps I was just grateful for
small mercies). Now Ratner has made Hercules,
a lousy movie about Hercules that wasn’t the lousy movie about Hercules directed
by Renny Harlin. The comfort is, even if Ratner had no involvement, this would
still be a lousy movie about Hercules.
Hercules is based
on the recently departed Steve Moore’s Thracian Wars comic book. Alan Moore and
his interplanetary beard kicked up a stink about the perceived opportunism of Paramount/MGM
recognising Moore on ads only after
his death. Which may be the case, but Moore (Alan) needs no excuse to grind his
axe with Hollywood. The main question is why this myth-busting take on the
demi-god was considered to be a remotely appealing idea. I understand that
Moore’s take, while it intentionally moved away from the mythological beasties,
stopped short of actually decrying Hercules’ status as a son of Zeus. Even
then, one has to wonder; what’s the appeal of the character, shorn of the
challenges that made him famous? You may as well have a barely-out-of-nappies
Arnie lumbering around present day (1970s) New York.
It’s shocking how, post-Harryhausen, Hollywood has failed to
have the slightest clue about how to render the Greek myths on screen. One
would have thought the opportunities were endless and seductive, what with the
leaps and bounds in effects technology, but instead they’ve been mostly
hamstrung. The Clash of the Titans
remake was miscast, misdirected (by the previously reliable Louis Letterier)
and only enabled a sequel thanks to the dire 3D foisted upon it.
Ironically, the lesser offenders are the contemporary Percy Jackson & the Olympians
pictures, which at least appear to have a genuine affection for the original legends
and iconography. Troy seemed
particularly unforgivable at the time, embarrassed to admit to the
deity-fuelled antics of The Illiad in
a post-Gladiator world (Clash is similarly botched, grit and
crew-cuts and shakycam imbued). I hasten to add, I really like the Director’s Cut of that movie, but the ass-backwards
thinking that inspired it seems to have also infected the limp charade that is Hercules. Hollywood even manages to
shoot itself in the foot when appealing to the Christian market, introducing
scepticism to Exodus when what’s needed
for box office is unquestioning belief. If Tinsel Town isn’t willing to be
cynically devotional for the sake of the dollar, then all hope is lost.
In Hercules, the
titular muscle-bound hulk, who trades quips in modern style with his modern
pals, isn’t the son of Zeus at all. He’s a warrior, all right, but his amazing
feats are a mixture of the support lent by his crew, the oratory of his
annoying nephew, and the (hugely patronising in visualisation, but that’s
Ratner) natural capacity for exaggeration his fame encourages.
His gang
consists of seer Amphiaraus (Ian McShane, reaping the scant laughs, and looking
remarkably robust for 70-plus), Autylocus (Rufus Sewell, the Han Solo type, right
down to running off with the gold and coming back at the end; the most shocking
thing here is that Sewell doesn’t
turn out to be a bad guy), Tydeus (Aksel Hennie, giving it some with his boggle
eyes) and Amazon archer Atlanta (Ingrid Bolsø Berdal, a more toned,
statuesque and less frosty Nicole Kidman type). Oh, and the enormously annoying
Iolaus (Reece Ritchie), the PR-guy and Hercules’ Scrappy Doo. Of all the
characters who needed a spear through the temple…
Hercules, of course, has a haunted past. A really boring one
involving a not-at-his-best Joseph Fiennes (he rarely has been since Shakespeare in Love). Herc wants to
retire somewhere quiet, beside the seaside, beside the sea. So it is that his
band of mercs takes a gig for a shed load of gold from Lord Cotys (John Hurt,
who clearly decided it was a chance to catch some rays and let his beard unfurl
some), training Thracians to fight the Bessi tribe, who are endangering them. Inevitably
there are tales of the supernatural qualities of the Bessi, which turn out to
be bunkum (they’re not centaurs! They’re men on horses! Just look at the CG
go!) As do the good intentions of Cotys and his right-hand Mullan.
This is tiresome stuff, only occasionally enlivened by the
Brit and Nordic thesps on vacation. The most egregious sin is that we keep
getting visual cues – via tall tales, dreams or hallucinations – of the sort every
kid wants from a mythical movie; the labours depicted in an obviously CGI but
still encouraging enough manner. It’s as if the tub of director actually wants to make a bomb (this didn’t bomb,
but neither was it an out-and-out hit); the only noteworthy aspect of the not-centaur
reveal is that I’m quite sure any watching 12 year old’s heart leapt at the
thought they might finally see bona
fide strange creatures, only for it to sink when realisation dawned.
As such, it’s an odd movie. Revisionist takes are
ten-a-penny (remember Clive Owen as King
Arthur, again shorn of magic?), and they are rarely successful on their own
terms. This is no exception. Its
clueless director throws in an obligatory f-word (“Fucking centaurs”, a common oath in ancient Greece) and blends current
colloquialisms with cod-Shakespearean tones. There’s zero finesse. Ratner’s
action chops have improved a little since Last
Stand. There’s an entertainingly mighty punch during Hercules’ first mano a
mano dust-up, and a reasonably executed fight against the Bessi, but big set
piece CG climax is dull.
Somehow, Hercules cost $100m, and somehow it managed to make nearly $250m. Which, in Dwayne Johnson terms, is his most successful star picture (that isn’t a pre-existing franchise). Johnson’s okay. He’s ever affable, but he doesn’t have any edge. This may be why, as much as everyone likes him, he hasn’t become a bona fide star (he doesn’t get bums on seats). Ratner’s always been a moronic moviemaker, but now he can add a killjoy feather to his cap. As one of the characters says on hearing Iolaus stories, “What a load of crap!” Which just about sums up Hercules’ director’s career.
