The Lone Ranger (2013)

Although it’s not a catastrophe by any stretch of the imagination, the biggest problem with Gore Verbinski’s The Lone Ranger isn’t the perceived cultural insensitivity of the “redface” casting of Johnny Depp as Tonto.  It’s that the film is longer than it needs to be and short on that relentless charm that made the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise such a winner.

Following the death of his brother and given a second chance at life, whitebread lawyer John Reid (Armie Hammer) dons a mask and a badge to become “The Lone Ranger.”  He teams with offbeat Cherokee Tonto (Depp) to apprehend the outlaw Butch Cavendish (William Fichtner) while railroad tycoon Latham Cole (Tom Wilkinson) works to complete his cross-country line.

With Pirates, Verbinski and Depp distilled a pitch-perfect blend of high-octane action and quirky character comedy (I’m on record as being of the opinion that the franchise has done no wrong).  A kind of revival of the Indiana Jones brand of action/comedy, Pirates also launched Depp into the household imagination as “he of the strange faces.”  But it’s a long shadow into which The Lone Ranger rides, which means the film’s shortcomings are either the result of detrimentally heightened expectations or simply a case of a film not living up to its predecessors.

The Lone Ranger has been called “bloated” by more than one critic, which accurately describes (but maybe embellishes) the principal problem with the film, which is one of length and pacing.  At 2:29, the film is longer than The Curse of the Black Pearl, and it takes even longer to get started; scene three of Pearl introduces us to Captain Jack Sparrow in one of cinema’s best introductions, yet it takes nearly an hour for Armie Hammer to don the mask.  And while Hammer is a good fit for the milquetoast pacifist Reid, charismatic he’s not, which forces the film to be Tonto’s.  Indeed, the film is often confused about who the star is; Depp’s name is above the title, but Hammer is the eponymous Ranger, though Depp headlines a (largely unnecessary) frame story.

Let’s back up and clarify here.  Hammer and Depp are fine choices for their respective roles.  Though one suspects this won’t be the start of the franchise Disney may have wanted, the two have good chemistry together, and the begrudging partnership that forms would make for interesting sequels that deconstruct the idealized 1950s partnership.  (If anything, the frame narrative sets this up as the “true” account of The Lone Ranger.)  Hammer is good at repressing his personality when he’s riding into battle atop Silver (here, a “spirit horse” with intractable charm in the vein of Fritz from Django Unchained).  As for Depp, this is “strange character #43” in his repertoire, albeit with more depth thanks to a surprisingly nuanced script that goes places of which the marketing campaign seemed blissfully unaware (and which those crying “racism” – at least, those who’ve seen it – seem willfully to ignore).

And the villains of the piece are delightfully hammy; classic bandit Fichtner snarls it up and isn’t apologetic about eating human hearts, a far cry from his blue-collar bank managers in Heat and The Dark Knight.  And I don’t need to tell you that Wilkinson is as always a treat, pouring the syrup on the scenery in lieu of twirling a mustache; you know he’s evil the moment you see him, though the inevitable revelation is played off with an additional, unexpected twist.

So with all these ingredients – including a near-cameo by Helena Bonham Carter as a one-legged brothel madam – what is it that doesn’t hit it for The Lone Ranger?  In large part, it’s an issue of length; like Pirates, there are several action set pieces, and the plot becomes quite complicated as the disparate story elements entangle themselves.  But unlike Pirates, Verbinski and company seem to have, sadly, listened to those who bemoaned that Pirates was too confusing; consequently, plot twists are recapped to death, and the status quo is reevaluated at the end of each.

When the film’s on, though, it’s on.  The action scenes are Pirates quality – particularly a harrowing canyon ambush, a barnyard shootout, and a horse-vs.-train duel set to a rousing reinterpretation of the William Tell Overture – and the performances, as I’ve said, are reliable.  In the end, The Lone Ranger is a bit like walking a mile when a run would do; you’ll get to the same place and feel about as good, but darned if it doesn’t take longer than need be.

The Lone Ranger is rated PG-13 “for sequences of intense action and violence, and some suggestive material.”  There’s some blood here and there, but most action sequences are bloodless and more exciting than gruesome.  A bandit speaks provocatively about a woman, while other men visit a brothel (which looks like a Disneyfied Moulin Rouge).

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Monday at the Movies - March 19, 2012

Welcome to Week Twelve of “Monday at the Movies.” On the docket this week, an Oscar winning movie, a movie as good as The Wicker Man (2006), and a trip between worlds: in other words, two hits and a miss this week – but oh, what a miss!

The Artist (2011) – This is the second silent film in as many weeks here on The Cinema King, although it might be unfair to label Michel Hazanavicius’s Best Picture winner as such, since the film does feature diegetic sound in several important scenes. While the revisiting of the silent film is a bit of a gimmick, the ways in which Hazanavicius and company subvert the expectations that come along with the genre redeem the film from being merely “that silent film.” I remain unconvinced that The Artist is better than fellow nominee Hugo, but it’s an equally compelling love letter to the cinema and its magic. The acting is, predictably, over-the-top, as all silent performances must be, and lead actor Jean Dujardin has no compunctions about chewing the scenery as necessary while portraying the actor George Valentin and his fall from fame. More restrained, mercifully, is his leading lady Bérénice Bejo, who plays talkies flapper Peppy Miller and can convey more with a wink than a lot of today’s crop of actresses. A few familiar faces round out the supporting cast – James Cromwell, John Goodman, and Malcolm McDowell among them – but all ears must necessarily be on Ludovic Bource’s score, which flounces through the highs and wallows in the lows of George Valentin’s descent. I enjoyed the film and was glad to finally start to catch up on last year’s Oscar frontrunners, although I must confess that there are parts where the film drags and most conventional filmgoers will lose interest. But stick with it; the ending is among the best I’ve seen in recent years.

Drive Angry (2011) – You can always count on Nicolas Cage for a really bad movie, but whether it’ll be an enjoyably bad movie or just a waste of film is always up for grabs. It’s been said that you can judge a Nic Cage flick by how far back his hairline goes, and in Drive Angry we’re getting a lot of forehead. And yes, it’s as bad as all that. In fact, the only thing that redeems Drive Angry from being completely unwatchable is that it seems to be in on its own joke, recognizing how absurd it is and reveling in its own ridiculousness. Nic overacts at level red as John Milton, late of hell, walking – nay, driving – the earth in search of his granddaughter, who’s about to be sacrificed by a satanic cult. Riding shotgun is Amber Heard as ex-waitress Piper, a pretty face who doesn’t do much aside from a fight scene near the middle of the film, and the villainous William Fichtner (recognizable as the bank manager in every film you’ve ever seen) plays The Accountant, who’s looking to return Milton to hell. I didn’t see the film in 3-D, and it’s apparently lost a bit of extravagance in the translation to two dimensions, but one thing the movie isn’t missing is explosions. A credible plot, realistic dialogue, meaningful character interactions, and narrative creativity – all of these are nowhere to be seen in Drive Angry, but at least (to borrow a line from Big Jim McBob and Billy Sol Hurok) it blowed up real good.

John Carter (2012) – It’s a major science fiction franchise, backed by arguably the biggest studio in town and a story by a major author of the twentieth century. Why, then, did it underperform? Taylor Kitsch stars as Civil War vet John Carter, who finds himself transported to Mars, where he’s quickly embroiled in a planetary conflict between the Tharks (led by Willem Dafoe’s voice in the body of a Green Martian), the Red Martians (with their king Ciarán Hinds), evil Sab Than (Dominic “McNulty” West), and the mystical Therns (headed by Mark Strong’s menacing Matai Shang) over the hand of Princess Dejah Thoris (Lynn Collins). Director Andrew Stanton has lent a hand on nearly every Pixar film, but for his first live-action solo outing John Carter is surprisingly good. Critical response has not been kind, and I’m not quite sure why. Granted, John Carter is not the best film you’ll see all year (wait until July for that), but it’s more than diverting; the effects are solid (although the Tharks recall the dismal Na’vi), the cast is strong, and the story is involving (if comprised of several infodumps). The best I can come up with is that John Carter’s biggest detriment is a weak marketing campaign; this ought to be a summer blockbuster, but it’s dumped ignominiously into the middle of March with not a single action figure on the shelves. I’d like to see a sequel, because it seems that the creative team is working very hard to introduce a lot of factions in an uncomplicated manner; I only hope they get a franchise out of it, because the last trilogy with which Andrew Stanton worked on made us all cry over a sheriff doll and a space ranger action figure.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!