Today, there just isn’t enough war to go round.

The Avengers

4.20: The Danger Makers

A bit of a plod this one, enlivened by a couple of scenes, admittedly, but not enough to salvage The Danger Makers. The title pretty much tells you the score, as military personnel, dismayed by the lack of conflict in peacetime, create thrill-seeking exercises for themselves. Unfortunately, the thrill seeking only intermittently extends to viewer enthralment.

Robertson: There are very few wars nowadays. They’re rapidly becoming push-button affairs. No, your concept of military life is changing, Mrs Peel. The military man is becoming defunct, obsolete, a dodo.

On the plus side, veteran film director Charles Crichton delivers a polished rendition of Roger Marshall’s screenplay, in which Apollo (revealed to be Dr Long, played by Douglas Wilmer, perhaps best known as the BBC ‘60s Sherlock Holmes, before Peter Cushing took over) has discovered that, in some soldiers, combat fatigue led to mental regression because they actually missed the shock of war – “Yes, you could call it an addiction to danger” – and envisages tapping into “all that potential energy, destructive energy”.

His plan to harness it, having set various veterans on jaunts where they are “dicing with death like irresponsible beatniks” (including Admiral Jackson crossing the Atlantic in Force 8 gale and chemical warfare expert Gordon Lamble “trying to climb the side of St Paul’s Cathedral when he fell”) is to be put into action via a rather mundane plot to steal the Crown Jewels (why not, I guess).

Mrs Peel: What have we got so far?

Steed: Two black roses, three corpses.

Mrs Peel: Four white feathers…

Steed: And a partridge in a pear tree.

The black roses are the Danger Makers symbol (making Steed’s access remarkably easy, announcing himself as a member of their Northern Chapter), the feathers one of failure, both appearing on the crest of Manton House, a military museum run by Colonel Adams (Fabia Drake), oblivious to the goings-on. While Steed fakes being one of the select group, Emma attempts to join up, seeking an in with Major Robertson (an eyepatched Nigel Davenport). Steed suggests: “Show him… (looking at her cleavage) Show him your bumps. He’s a part-time phrenologist”.

Steed: Clearer?

Mrs Peel: Much. A bunch of schizoid, paranoid sociopaths.

Steed: And incidentally dangerous.

Maybe I’m being a bit hard on this one. There are a number of nice moments, such as Steed making up his society name; plumping for a Roman God, he naturally picks Bacchus, and receives a funny look from Peters (Moray Watson, The Quatermass Experiment, Black Orchid). There’s also a lovely punchline to the scene in which Emma receives a box of chocolates from Robertson, and Steed warns her not to touch it while he apparently inspects it for explosives:

Steed: Whatever you do, don’t touch the wrapped ones.

Mrs Peel: Why not?

Steed: Cos I like ‘em.

Mrs Peel’s initiation, in which she plays a deadly, full-scale version of the wire loop game (touch the sides and she’s electrocuted), moving along seesaws, is a masterful set piece, full of sweaty close-ups from the onlookers (and an impromptu cough from Robertson).

And then there’s Steed, who was unable to hoodwink Apollo that he was a member, obviously, facing his would-be executioner with disarming cheerfulness:

Robertson: I’ve got to kill you.

Steed: Don’t make too much noise about it, will you.

Robertson: I said, I’ve got to kill you.

Steed (reading the newspaper): My goodness me, British tin down another point.

Robertson: Stand up.

Steed: Why?

Robertson: Because I’m going to kill you.

Steed: Major, your hand isn’t shaking at all. It’s as steady as rock. There’s more danger in stamp collecting.

He appeals Robertson’s flair for jeopardy, persuading him they should both have an equal chance of taking the gun, placed on the table. They sit opposite each other, the Major beginning a count to three. Robertson doesn’t get to two when Steed plucks up the gun and promptly hits him over the head with it (“Sorry, Major. I never did believe in rules”). Ungentlemanly, but very amusing.

Steed: How did you get out?
Mrs Peel: I knotted some sheets.

Steed: Oh, that old thing.

Mrs Peel: Well, originality didn’t seem imperative at the time.

Emma, of course, proves just as resourceful in her own off-camera way (above). Despite the high points, though, this one tends to the rather dry and militaristic elsewhere, right down to a Journey’s End-inspired character name (Stanhope, played by Adrian Ropes, although he’s more of a Raleigh, plotwise). The laugh-off is similarly breathless to The Girl from Auntie’s verbiage, only with Steed delivering this time, before their stunt doubles head off in go-carts:

Mrs Peel: Steed, I still don’t understand how you stumbled on the Danger Makers.

Steed: Simple, Mrs Peel. When Groves died, I saw Lowry, who put me on to Lamble, who led me to Robertson, through whom I met Stanhope, who later was killed, who passed on info about Manton, where I met Colonel Adams. I simply put two and two together.

Mrs Peel: Elementary.

Steed: Basic.

Mrs Peel: Shall we drive?

Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

I think I’m Pablo Picasso!

Venom: Let There Be Carnage (2021) (SPOILERS) I get the impression that, whatever it is stalwart Venom fans want from a Venom movie, this iteration isn’t it. The highlight here for me is absolutely the wacky, love-hate, buddy-movie antics of Tom Hardy and his symbiote alter. That was the best part of the original, before it locked into plot “progression” and teetered towards a climax where one CGI monster with gnarly teeth had at another CGI monster with gnarly teeth. And so it is for Venom: Let There Be Carnage . But cutting quicker to the chase.

I don’t think Wimpys still exist.

Last Night in Soho (2021) (SPOILERS) Last Night in Soho is a cautionary lesson in one’s reach extending one’s grasp. It isn’t that Edgar Wright shouldn’t attempt to stretch himself, it’s simply that he needs the self-awareness to realise which moves are going to throw his back out and leave him in a floundering and enfeebled heap on the studio floor. Wright’s an uber-geek, one with a very specific comfort zone, and there’s no shame in that. He evidently was shamed, though, hence this response to criticisms of a lack of maturity and – obviously – lack of versatility with female characters. Last Night in Soho goes broke for woke, and in so doing exposes his new clothes in the least flattering light. Because Edgar is in no way woke, his attempts to prove his progressive mettle lead to a lurid, muddled mess, one that will satisfy no one. Well, perhaps his most ardent fans, but no one else.

It looks like a digital walkout.

Free Guy (2021) (SPOILERS) Ostensibly a twenty-first century refresh of The Truman Show , in which an oblivious innocent realises his life is a lie, and that he is simply a puppet engineered for the entertainment of his creators/controllers/the masses, Free Guy lends itself to similar readings regarding the metaphysical underpinnings of our reality, of who sets the paradigm and how conscious we are of its limitations. But there’s an additional layer in there too, a more insidious one than using a Hollywood movie to “tell us how it really is”.

It becomes easier each time… until it kills you.

The X-Files 4.9: Terma Oh dear. After an engaging opener, the second part of this story drops through the floor, and even the usually spirited Rob Bowman can’t save the lethargic mess Carter and Spotnitz make of some actually pretty promising plot threads.

He's not a nightstalker, and it'll take a lot more than bench presses to defeat him.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988) (SPOILERS) The most successful entry in the franchise, if you don’t count Freddy vs. Jason . And the point at which Freddy went full-on vaudeville, transformed into adored ringmaster rather than feared boogeyman. Not that he was ever very terrifying in the first place (the common misapprehension is that later instalments spoiled the character, but frankly, allowing Robert Englund to milk the laughs in bad-taste fashion is the saving grace of otherwise forgettably formulaic sequel construction). A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master boasts the most inventive, proficient effects work yet, but it’s also by far the least daring in terms of plotting, scraping together a means for Freddy to persist in his nocturnal pestilence while offering nothing in the way of the unexpected, be it characterisations or story points.

Give daddy the glove back, princess.

Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare (1991) (SPOILERS) Looking at Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare , by some distance the least lauded (and laudable) of the original Elm Street sextet, you’d think it inconceivable that novice director and series old-hand – first as assistant production manager and finally as producer – Rachel Talalay has since become a respected and in-demand TV helmer. For the most part, Freddy’s Dead is shockingly badly put together. It reminded me of the approach the likes of Chris Carter and Sir Ken take, where someone has clearly been around productions, absorbing the basics of direction, but has zero acumen for turning that into a competent motion picture, be it composition, scene construction, editing or pacing. Talalay’s also responsible for the story idea here, which does offer a few nuggets, at least, but her more primary role actively defeats any positives.

Monster nom nom?

The Suicide Squad (2021) (SPOILERS) This is what you get from James Gunn when he hasn’t been fed through the Disney rainbow filter. Pure, unadulterated charmlessness, as if he’s been raiding his deleted Twitter account for inspiration. The Suicide Squad has none of the “heart” of Guardians of Galaxy , barely a trace of structure, and revels in the kind of gross out previously found in Slither ; granted an R rating, Gunn revels in this freedom with juvenile glee, but such carte blanche only occasionally pays off, and more commonly leads to a kind of playground repetition. He gets to taunt everyone, and then kill them. Critics applauded; general audiences resisted. They were right to.

Give poor, starving Gurgi munchings and crunchings.

The Black Cauldron (1985) (SPOILERS) Dark Disney? I guess… Kind of . I don’t think I ever got round to seeing this previously. The Fox and the Hound , sure. Basil the Great Mouse Detective , most certainly. Even Oliver and Company , so I wasn’t that selective. But I must have missed The Black Cauldron , the one that nearly broke Disney, for the same reason everyone else did. But what reason was that? Perhaps nothing leaping out about it, when the same summer kids could see The Goonies , or Back to the Future , or Pee Wee’s Big Adventure . It seemed like a soup of other, better-executed ideas and past Disney movies, stirred up in a cauldron and slopped out into an environment where audiences now wanted something a touch more sophisticated.

Oh hello, loves, what year is it?

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021) (SPOILERS) Simu Lui must surely be the least charismatic lead in a major motion picture since… er, Taylor Lautner? He isn’t aggressively bad, like Lautner was/is, but he’s so blank, so nondescript, he makes Marvel’s super-spiffy new superhero Shang-Chi a superplank by osmosis. Just looking at him makes me sleepy, so it’s lucky Akwafina is wired enough for the both of them. At least, until she gets saddled with standard sidekick support heroics and any discernible personality promptly dissolves. And so, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings continues Kevin Feige’s bold journey into wokesense, seemingly at the expense of any interest in dramatically engaging the viewer.

The voice from the outer world who will lead them to paradise.

Dune (2021) (SPOILERS) For someone who has increasingly dug himself a science-fiction groove, Denis Villeneuve isn’t terribly imaginative. Dune looks perfect, in the manner of the cool, clinical, calculating and above all glacial rendering of concept design and novel cover art in the most doggedly literal fashion. And that’s the problem. David Lynch’s edition may have had its problems, but it was inimitably the product of a mind brimming with sensibility. Villeneuve’s version announces itself as so determinedly faithful to Frank Herbert, it needs two movies to tell one book, and yet all it really has to show for itself are gargantuan vistas.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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