"Why. So. Serious?"
If any phrase has singularly hit the critique nail on the head for blockbusters of the last decade, it's Heath Ledger's iconic epitaph. For years after his swan song performance, those three words distilled to the most succinct film criticism, and a means of instantly calling out a slew of dopey Hollywood escapist romps, which, bloated with unwanted 'grittiness' and an overbearing sense of self-importance, obstinately refuse to just be FUN. Rampage, thankfully, isn't quite as big an offender, but it's treading dangerous thin ice. Adapting an arcade game where giant monsters break crap seems transparently like the sort of dumb, low-concept property designed to be bolstered by the artist-formerly-known-as-Rock's unquenchable charisma - and, in its best (and mostly climactic) moments, Rampage is cheerfully that, no strings attached. Unfortunately, it's a trek to the smashy smashy, with a disappointingly straight, mannered telling, disappointingly at odds with the film's indisputable popcorn stupidity.
Rampage the arcade game was a classic of unleashing the id. Players, embodying humans mutated into giant, monstrous animals, were encouraged to destroy as much of the game's nameless city as possible in a glorious gluttony of cathartic rage. On paper, it sounds like perfect fodder for a post-Roger Corman B-movie romp, a cheese buffet befitting the age of Sharknado. Here, it seems the joke is on us, with a budget and production values as high as the concept is low, including the full force of Lord of the Rings' Weta Workshops. Rampage's monsters look... really, really cool. And watching them chomp into each other and turn a city block into a parking lot is stupendously satisfying. Fights are vicious, survivors bloodied and managed, and the entire smackdown is infused with the kind of concussive weight and sense of consequence that most CGI slugfests spend millions more striving for. In fact, it's almost grotesque how vast the discrepancy is between how good the film looks and how simple and stupid it is. But, fun is fun, even indulgently expensive fun. Right?
Unfortunately, in the words of Jeff Bridges in (similarly dumb-'n-fun) R.I.P.D.: "Ya gotta earn that." Thus, swept along with the gloriously expensive carnage is (gasp) an accompanying solemn sense of self-importance (nooooo!). And thus, after a momentarily elating prologue in an exploding space shuttle, we're treated to loooooooots of time to get to know our human (boring!) protagonists. The problem? They're all 8-bit archetypes cluttered with extraneously overcomplicated traumatic backstories involving special forces PTSD and dead relatives, that, frankly, aren't that compelling. Precious moments that could be devoted to a gigantic, frilled, gator-boar-dragon massacring boats of helpless people are squandered on countless redundant cutscenes of instantly forgettable military grunts scowling, and tearful confessions in cornfields. Instead of the (far more interesting and fun) source premise of normal people going berserk mutated into monstrous beasts and lashing out in feral rage, Rampage is muzzled with dour animal conservation and anti-poaching subplots. Director Brad Peyton's telling is so robust and earnest that it's almost tempting enough to buy in - until reality kicks in, and we realize a movie called Rampage, unsurprisingly, isn't going to convince anyone to save the gorillas. And putting in so much painstaking work attempting to contextualize and justify the film's wafer-thin premise ultimately detracts from the fun.
Still, a little Rock goes a long way, and we get full value Dwayne firing on all cylinders here. He mostly plays it straight, signing like a credible primatologist, and it's impossible to imagine any other performer selling his strange buddy-cop relationship with George the gigantic albino gorilla more credibly and adorably. Still, false delusions of grandeur or not, that charisma can't be contained. And when he allows his customary twinkle flit back into his eyes as he spouts joyfully silly punchlines, or lets loose with a grenade launcher, howling with brawny bravado, or overpowers foolish foot soldiers with laughable ease, are the moments the film comes to life the most. Our dear Miss Moneypenny, Naomie Harris, tries her best to live up to his Rock-ness, but her love-interest-scientist feels superfluous even for a film this superficial. She's fun, and distinctly out-performs the material, but her best attempts at grim personal trauma or comic relief wisecracking feel somewhat sour and undercooked. Malin Ackerman's flinty corporate scoundrel is as bland as they come, and instantly forgettable, though Jake Lacy is more fun as her goofball brother/co-conspirator. Still, Jeffrey Dean Morgan knows exactly how much scenery to chew as a curiously overstaying fed, with a cowboy twang worthy of Sam Elliot, and he's surprisingly entertaining for it.
We walk into Rampage eagerly expecting the plucky, action-packed silliness of 2017's Kong: Skull Island, but emerge with a film so top-heavy with sodden portentousness, sparse spectacle, and banal military jingoism that it tips dangerously close to the grim train wreck of 2014's Godzilla. But, when Peyton lets them fight, Rampage lives up to its name, with grandiose, dopey destruction bar none. Still, if we're going to have a budget this excessive, is it too much to hope for the spectacle to match it: more ridiculous, excessive destruction, more creative big things for the immense albino gorilla to smack its peers with - and without unwanted, unnecessary navel-gazing? Having blowouts this well-realized but cramped into the finale and sidelined for so many boring humans talking feels like running out of quarters at the arcade on the cusp of beating your high score.
-6.5/10
If any phrase has singularly hit the critique nail on the head for blockbusters of the last decade, it's Heath Ledger's iconic epitaph. For years after his swan song performance, those three words distilled to the most succinct film criticism, and a means of instantly calling out a slew of dopey Hollywood escapist romps, which, bloated with unwanted 'grittiness' and an overbearing sense of self-importance, obstinately refuse to just be FUN. Rampage, thankfully, isn't quite as big an offender, but it's treading dangerous thin ice. Adapting an arcade game where giant monsters break crap seems transparently like the sort of dumb, low-concept property designed to be bolstered by the artist-formerly-known-as-Rock's unquenchable charisma - and, in its best (and mostly climactic) moments, Rampage is cheerfully that, no strings attached. Unfortunately, it's a trek to the smashy smashy, with a disappointingly straight, mannered telling, disappointingly at odds with the film's indisputable popcorn stupidity.
Rampage the arcade game was a classic of unleashing the id. Players, embodying humans mutated into giant, monstrous animals, were encouraged to destroy as much of the game's nameless city as possible in a glorious gluttony of cathartic rage. On paper, it sounds like perfect fodder for a post-Roger Corman B-movie romp, a cheese buffet befitting the age of Sharknado. Here, it seems the joke is on us, with a budget and production values as high as the concept is low, including the full force of Lord of the Rings' Weta Workshops. Rampage's monsters look... really, really cool. And watching them chomp into each other and turn a city block into a parking lot is stupendously satisfying. Fights are vicious, survivors bloodied and managed, and the entire smackdown is infused with the kind of concussive weight and sense of consequence that most CGI slugfests spend millions more striving for. In fact, it's almost grotesque how vast the discrepancy is between how good the film looks and how simple and stupid it is. But, fun is fun, even indulgently expensive fun. Right?
Unfortunately, in the words of Jeff Bridges in (similarly dumb-'n-fun) R.I.P.D.: "Ya gotta earn that." Thus, swept along with the gloriously expensive carnage is (gasp) an accompanying solemn sense of self-importance (nooooo!). And thus, after a momentarily elating prologue in an exploding space shuttle, we're treated to loooooooots of time to get to know our human (boring!) protagonists. The problem? They're all 8-bit archetypes cluttered with extraneously overcomplicated traumatic backstories involving special forces PTSD and dead relatives, that, frankly, aren't that compelling. Precious moments that could be devoted to a gigantic, frilled, gator-boar-dragon massacring boats of helpless people are squandered on countless redundant cutscenes of instantly forgettable military grunts scowling, and tearful confessions in cornfields. Instead of the (far more interesting and fun) source premise of normal people going berserk mutated into monstrous beasts and lashing out in feral rage, Rampage is muzzled with dour animal conservation and anti-poaching subplots. Director Brad Peyton's telling is so robust and earnest that it's almost tempting enough to buy in - until reality kicks in, and we realize a movie called Rampage, unsurprisingly, isn't going to convince anyone to save the gorillas. And putting in so much painstaking work attempting to contextualize and justify the film's wafer-thin premise ultimately detracts from the fun.
Still, a little Rock goes a long way, and we get full value Dwayne firing on all cylinders here. He mostly plays it straight, signing like a credible primatologist, and it's impossible to imagine any other performer selling his strange buddy-cop relationship with George the gigantic albino gorilla more credibly and adorably. Still, false delusions of grandeur or not, that charisma can't be contained. And when he allows his customary twinkle flit back into his eyes as he spouts joyfully silly punchlines, or lets loose with a grenade launcher, howling with brawny bravado, or overpowers foolish foot soldiers with laughable ease, are the moments the film comes to life the most. Our dear Miss Moneypenny, Naomie Harris, tries her best to live up to his Rock-ness, but her love-interest-scientist feels superfluous even for a film this superficial. She's fun, and distinctly out-performs the material, but her best attempts at grim personal trauma or comic relief wisecracking feel somewhat sour and undercooked. Malin Ackerman's flinty corporate scoundrel is as bland as they come, and instantly forgettable, though Jake Lacy is more fun as her goofball brother/co-conspirator. Still, Jeffrey Dean Morgan knows exactly how much scenery to chew as a curiously overstaying fed, with a cowboy twang worthy of Sam Elliot, and he's surprisingly entertaining for it.
We walk into Rampage eagerly expecting the plucky, action-packed silliness of 2017's Kong: Skull Island, but emerge with a film so top-heavy with sodden portentousness, sparse spectacle, and banal military jingoism that it tips dangerously close to the grim train wreck of 2014's Godzilla. But, when Peyton lets them fight, Rampage lives up to its name, with grandiose, dopey destruction bar none. Still, if we're going to have a budget this excessive, is it too much to hope for the spectacle to match it: more ridiculous, excessive destruction, more creative big things for the immense albino gorilla to smack its peers with - and without unwanted, unnecessary navel-gazing? Having blowouts this well-realized but cramped into the finale and sidelined for so many boring humans talking feels like running out of quarters at the arcade on the cusp of beating your high score.
-6.5/10