The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug: Movie review

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings is a spectacularly realised saga that’s even more impressive for the scale of its ambition: to tell a grand, epic story on film, which it (mostly) does (when it’s not swaddling itself in sentimentality). Remember how compelling The Fellowship of the Ring was the first time? I saw that movie four times in the cinema and countless times after on DVD.

I can’t imagine watching any of The Hobbit films more than once, ever. Not because they’re terrible: The first installment, An Unexpected Journey, is fine, and its sequel, The Desolation of Smaug, is also fine. It’s just that the ambition of these films feels less “let’s tell a story” and more “let’s make a ton of money stretching an uncomplicated story across three unnecessary films”.

If you’re a Middle-earth diehard and/or you don’t care about any of that, great, good for you, you will enjoy this a lot. But a sense of gross cash-grabbing cynicism hangs off Smaug like the creepy giant spiders that have spun their webs across Mirkwood. Sure, yes, Hollywood is a business and every blockbuster is made to make money – but The Hobbit franchise’s naked greed is actually revolting.

Because J.R.R. Tolkein’s Hobbit book is so slight you could literally read the whole thing in the time it takes to watch a single part of its film adaptation, Jackson and co. have made significant additions to its plot. Smaug picks straight up from the first film, in which the 13 dwarves, Gandalf (Ian McKellen) and Bilbo (Martin Freeman) made barely any progress on their quest to the Lonely Mountain to boot out Smaug the dragon (voiced by Tumblr’s favourite actor Benedict Cumberbatch).

To move things along a bit, the party takes a shortcut through the spider-infested Mirkwood while Gandalf goes off to investigate some spooky Necromancer we’re meant to pretend we don’t know is Sauron. The travellers are rescued then imprisoned by elves, including princely Legolas (Orlando Bloom, who spends most of the film looking fiercely irritated by his contact lenses) and his subject Tauriel* (Evangeline Lilly), a badass he has a crush on.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug(*Tolkein avoided female characters like orcs avoid Sting, but Tauriel is one of the few inventions this bloated film actually needs: She’s its only major female character – in fact she’s the only female character, period, which is not a menstruation pun. Cate Blanchett’s Galadriel, An Unexpected Journey’s only lady, appears only for a moment. Of course Tauriel is manouvered into a love triangle with Legolas and one of the dwarves; this doesn’t bother me because it’s sexist to give the only lady a love story, or whatever, but because it’s yet another unnecessary plot. And as if a warrior elf hottie would fall for some smelly dwarf anyway.)

The travellers escape the elf kingdom by riding in barrels down a river in a great sequence that will probably make a great theme park ride some day, and they befriend a handsome outsider named Bard (Luke Evans), who smuggles them into a village near Smaug’s hideout called Laketown, where they meet a dumbass mayor (Stephen Fry) who cuts some deal with them – I’m fuzzy on the details because I slipped out to visit the men’s room* – and then they trek off to the Lonely Mountain, where the dwarves throw a tantrum and quit the whole journey because they don’t immediately find the doorway in, but luckily/conveniently, Bilbo finds it, and then he’s sent in to burgle the dragon’s lair (which was the whole reason he was dragged along, remember?) and find some important dwarf stone (which is the key to this whole quest, remember?) (actually I didn’t remember anything about that stuff, but luckily there is lots of exposition, so much exposition), and then Bilbo actually meets Smaug when the dragon emerges from under his treasure pile, and then some more stuff happens, and then…

(*One does not simply watch a 17-hour film without taking bathroom breaks, though it says a lot about Smaug‘s plot that you can skip scenes to pee without missing anything important.)

Whew. There is a lot going on in this movie. It leaps from scene to scene, so it’s never boring. It’s just… pointless. What is all this story for? What is it labouring towards? What does it service aside from this bloated franchise? There’s another film to go after this one? Jeez.

This feeling is most obvious in the climactic, 20-minute scene (spoilers ahead!) depicting Bilbo and the dwarves escaping Smaug’s lair, with the fire-belching dragon chasing furiously after them. They all run around! They all pull ropes! They all ride mine carts! Except it’s not really clear why anyone is doing any of this, because there isn’t any reason for it except to fill screen time.

The story of The Lord of the Rings had purpose. The story of The Hobbit just has… dwarves. So, so many dwarves, whose quest no one cares about and who blur into one and rarely stand out from each other. (“Hey, it’s that red-haired dwarf again. Oh – and another red-haired dwarf next to him? There are two red-haired dwarves in this I guess?”) Despite being the franchise’s title character, Bilbo disappears in among the dwarves and hardly matters for long tracts of the film. Who needs a magic ring to make someone invisible when you can pull of the same trick by burying them in hours and hours of unnecessary storylines?

Previously: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

 

American Hustle: Movie review

American Hustle

Immediately after watching American Hustle, I said to my friend: “Well, that was… fine.” He replied: “It was, and I never want to see it ever again.”

Which pretty much sums it up. (End of review!) American Hustle is not a great movie. It’s not a bad movie. It’s just an unremarkable one.

Sporting a flabby and not-especially-appealing belly (maybe as a symbol for the whole film?) and a combover, Christian Bale plays Irving Rosenfeld, a 1970s conman who’s clever enough to know his limits. Working alongside his lover Sydney (Amy Adams), who poses as an prime Englishwoman with vague banking connections, he targets small-time victims and reaps modest rewards.

Then they’re busted by Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), an ambitious and arrogant FBI agent who exploits their cunning to go after bigger fish. DiMaso’s first mark is Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner), a New Jersey mayor willing to do some dirty deals if it means he can ultimately do good for his community.

As Polito’s connections to crooked senators and the Mafia become clearer, a manic DiMaso raises the stakes of his operation and entangles Irving and Sydney in both increasingly dangerous hijinks and convoluted love quadrangles.

Tied up in all of this is Irving’s wife Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence, aka my future best friend and definitely not your future best friend), an unpredictable big-mouth who serves mostly as comic relief.

American HustleThe story isn’t gritty or compelling enough to make it a satisfying, Goodfellas-ish underworld movie. But it isn’t wacky enough to make it a satisfying, Oceans 11-ish heist movie, either.

Hustle isn’t really enough of anything. It’s kind of funny, but not especially funny. Lawrence scores most of the good lines — dubbing her new-fangled microwave a “science oven” — and Louis C.K. is sort of amusing doing his Louis C.K. thing. It’s kind of retro, but not remarkably retro. Cooper has a perm, and Adams and Lawrence wear lots of open-down-to-the-navel ’70s blouses. (More like American Bustle, am I right fellas?) The performances and direction are solid, but nothing about it seems outstandingly strong.

It’s watchable without ever being engaging. This is the kind of film that will probably dominate this year’s awards season by virtue of its pedigree (yep), which we’ll all have forgotten about by this time next year.