AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM is a tired pastiche of the super-hero/sci-fi genre most notable for being a perfect distillation of the phenomenon known as “super-hero fatigue”. Smothered by its been-there, seen-that vibe, it presents little to recommend it beyond Randall Park as both the embodiment of egregious exposition and the voice of reason. He is the only one who can balance the essential absurdity of the goings-on with a nimble, ahem, undercurrent of emotional angst. The rest, despite the breezy brawny bro-charm of Jason Momoa returning in the title role, and Patrick Wilson as his half-brother and nemesis, Orm, discovering the down side of being a rule-abiding prig, is a tedious, disjointed exercise in overkill.
Aquaman, aka Arthur, is tiring of his role as the new king of Atlantis after discovering that the boredom of committee meetings and the bureaucracy that boasts wasting time as its principle accomplishment is less rewarding than the heroic battles that seized the throne from Orm. It may have suited Orm before, but Arthur prefers the simple life in his father’s seaside cabin with wife Mera (Amber Heard) and baby son, Arthur, Jr. Alas, Orm may be safely tucked away, imprisoned by the oxymoronic desert-dwelling Fishermen, but his other nemesis, Black Manta (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) is still plotting revenge against Arthur for killing his father in the last film. His solution? Send Dr. Shin (Park) to search for the a lost city of Atlantis and use that antique, but still advanced, technology to end Aquaman and all that he loves. That includes the Earth, which allows for a timely subplot about industrial pollution and climate change.
One can only speculate on what this flick was intended to be before Ms. Heard garnered such negative press in her court fight with ex-husband, Johnny Depp. The producers felt that they had no choice but to re-imagine the nearly completed film, excising her as much as possible and engaging in what turns out to be extensive reshoots of distinctly kludgy rewrites. Hence, there’s the voice-over montage of the idyllic life in the cabin, and of the dull life in the splendors of Atlantis, to establish Arthur’s new life. Mera is there, silently holding the baby and sitting by Arthur’s side on the thrones under the sea, and then she’s not anywhere once the montage is over. Arthur commiserates with his father (Temuera Morrison) about the struggles of being a single parent without any explanation of why he has become one. The she pops up again later when Black Manta attacks Atlantis, then, still later she and Arthur’s mother, Atlanna (Nicole Kidman) send him off with Orm to defeat Blank Manta once and for all. It is understandable that sunk costs may have precluded starting this flick over from scratch, and from scrapping it altogether, but it’s hard to, ahem, fathom why releasing such hash will keep the franchise going.
Make no mistake. Films have succeeded when the plot goes off the rails. THE BIG SLEEP, for example, but that had the chemistry of Bogart and Bacall going for it, and an absorbing story about the decadence that lurks beneath the veneer of high society. Plus an ironic, wisecracking gumshoe with a sense of chivalry worthy of The Round Table. Here we have Martin Short voicing a knock-off of Jabba the Hut from the Star Wars universe, and Arthur and Orm as a bickering odd couple after the former saves the latter from those ci-mentioned oxymorons in order to, of course, save the planet. Both actors are good, playing to their strengths, but the dialogue and situations are obvious and uninspired, then the ultimate villain’s lair in an extinct volcano feels like another knock-off, this time from the James Bond franchise.
It >all< feels like a knock-off. Sets that were probably very expensive look like so much foam and shiny acrylic paint, while fight scenes that have all the hallmarks of careful choreography are directed with the urgency of chilled lox. Without the schmear. Wan does, to be fair, do much better in the small moments such as Park’s Greek chorus of commentary, or when Orm responds to a plea for help from a fellow-Atlantean with an enigmatic coldness. Suddenly it’s interesting for a few moments. For the rest, not even the manly form of Jason Momoa can sell a giant seahorse as a dashing aquasteed. The ennui is crushing.
AQUAMAN AND THE LOST CITY is simultaneously too jokey and too preachy (Kidman is so solemn she’s practically a marble statue) for its own good. When the next film inevitably, ahem, splashes across screens in a few years, let’s hope they’ve settled on one idiom or the other.
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