Review: Uncharted

Just from watching Uncharted, it wouldn't come as a surprise to learn that Tom Holland was a massive fan of the game it's based on and turning it into a movie was a lifelong ambition - he's constantly giving it his all in every scene while those around him seem five seconds away from taking out their phones to check their social media stats. 

Then again, it's just as likely his management team sat him down and told him he can't be the Spider-Man guy forever and if he doesn't kick-start another franchise soon then his days of fancy Hollywood premieres will be over. Remember that guy who played Captain America? Not any more you don't.

Just look at co-star Mark Wahlberg, who well within living memory was the biggest box office draw on the planet (and was originally cast in the lead here a decade ago) but now seems lucky to be a sidekick in a video game adaptation where his character largely vanishes from screen every time there's an action sequence. It's a weird choice for him, as he's never given off the kind of "lovable rogue" vibes this role requires: you can easily imagine him cheating you and ripping you off, just not the "ha ha, only kidding" part.

The story here is yet another Hollywood treasure quest complete with clues and death traps and codes and maps, none of which make a lick of sense on any level. Seriously, if you want to get any enjoyment out of this film at all do not spend a single second thinking about any of the puzzles; as you might expect, this is a problem for the movie as a whole.

Holland is Nathan Drake, orphan turned bartender and pickpocket, who a): gets a lot of mysterious postcards from his runaway older brother Sam, who shared his obsession with the past and pirates and treasure and so on, and b): has Victor "Sully" Sullivan (Wahlberg) turn up at his bar one evening in a way that might make you think he's really Sam but no, he's a completely unrelated treasure hunter who wants Nathan's help and figures negging him like it was still 2014 is the way to get it.

All you really need to know from there is that Nathan gets into a lot of (not bad) action scenes that require him to be very flexible, there's a running joke about his old cigarette lighter (that doesn't light) that never pays off, and the hunt requires them to go to all the usual locations - you know, fancy auction house, catacombs under a European city, the jungle primeval.

Also, you can't trust anyone when it comes to treasure - including seemingly helpful Chloe Frazer (Sophia Ali), seemingly unhelpful Jo Braddock (Tati Gabrielle), and rival treasure seeker Santiago Moncada (Antonio Banderas). And that all-action flash-forward scene the film opens with? That's about as good as it gets.

Holland is the real draw here and he gives it all he's got, providing a charming, relentlessly likable performance that's easily the best thing about this film (and the only reason to wish for a sequel). Everyone else is fully aware they're in a limp jumble of stale Hollywood adventure cliches; he's the one taking it all seriously, presumably because this is his big chance to show he can make bank out of a Spider-Man costume. 

Or any costume really. If it's surprising how often he either ends up in a soaking wet top or entirely shirtless, that's only because Marvel movies are so remorselessly sexless even the slightest reminder that Holland is a movie star - and those guys are traditionally meant to be objects of desire - now seems more startling than any rusty death trap.

- Anthony Morris

Review: Blacklight

Liam Neeson's last team-up with writer-director Mark Williams was the surprisingly sturdy Honest Thief, the kind of late-career Neeson thriller that stays firmly within the audience's comfort zone while providing just enough quirky character moments and decent action to make it an entertaining 90-odd minutes. Now the gang is back with Blacklight, which seems to promise more of the same but ends up reaching for something a little different.

Travis Block (Neeson) specialises in extracting FBI agents from undercover operations too hot to handle. He's been doing this for years off the books for Gabriel Robinson (Aidan Quinn), who's now the head of the FBI and the closest thing Block has to a friend. But he does have a family: his daughter Amanda (Claire van der Boom), who is more than a little wary of her often absent father, and a young granddaughter, who he's rapidly training to be as paranoid as he is.

Meanwhile, the actual story involves Dusty Crane (Taylor John Smith), an undercover agent who's had a severe attack of conscience after being involved in an operation that ended in the murder of a high profile politician. He's trying to tell his story to anyone who'll listen, which (as he's clearly a little unhinged) just means online journalist Mira Jones (Emmy Raver-Lampman). Now Block's latest job is to calm Crane down and bring him in without too many car chases through Melbourne's Southbank precinct pretending to be Washington DC.

While Neeson's presence suggests this will be yet another enjoyable opportunity for him to take out the trash, this is in fact a political thriller where Neeson's character spends much of the film playing second fiddle to the genre's traditional leads - the whistle-blower and the crusading journalist. He's given various bits of personal business to keep him occupied, and there are a handful of striking and well thought out action scenes, but at times this feels like he's been dropped into a story that really doesn't need him.

The flip side of this is that he's still the heart of the film, playing a character that's the most interesting thing on screen. Less may be more, but almost everything about Block feels like it deserved more screen time; a sequence towards the end where he panics over losing contact with his family is more memorable than the various generic threats to democracy discussed around it.

Part of the problem is that there's no mystery behind the conspiracy. We almost always know what's going on before Block does, so many of his early scenes are just waiting for him to get caught up. It's noticable that the few scenes that feature actual surprises - or just Block professionally doing his job - are easily the most effective here. 

Despite the at-times stylish direction and strong performances, too often the story in Blacklight gets in its own way: half as much going on (leaving more room for Block to electrocute the bad guys and train a pre-schooler to always count the exits) would have been twice as engaging.

- Anthony Morris

Review: Death on the Nile

The title of Kenneth Branagh's second - and with Disney having left this on the shelves for well over a year, almost certainly last - Agatha Christie adaptation promises viewers two things. Unfortunately, here the Nile is only adequate at best, a mix of average CGI and the occasional cutaway to reed farmers or chomping crocodiles; Death, on the other hand, does more than its fair share of the heavy lifting.

Almost from the beginning, Christie's puzzlebox mysteries were scorned by fellow crime writers as bloodless things detached from reality. Branagh seems to have taken this criticism firmly on board, even as, close to a century later, the mystery genre continues to thrive on contrivance and disposable characters. A quirky, self-referential, post-modern take on the genre this is not.

Opening with a WWI sequence that's both a grim origin story for Poirot's mustache and the first sign that this is a tale where love is firmly entwined with death, things muddle around for a while in pre-WWII London and Egypt until Poirot's enjoyment of the Great Pyramids is interrupted by old chum Bouc (Tom Bateman), who drags him along to a fancy honeymoon party where it turns out Poirot knows the main players but not the combination they've settled down in.

Extremely wealthy heiress Linnet Ridgeway (Gal Gadot, charming and likable) has just wed hunky lunk Simon Doyle (Armie Hammer, entertainingly solid), who - last time we saw him - was dry humping Linnet's bestie Jacqueline (Emma Mackie, sympathetically tormented) on a London nightclub dancefloor. Now she's turned stalker, Linnet is understandably freaking out, and she asks Poirot to tag along in the hopes his private investigator skills can keep her safe.

Meanwhile, literally everyone else in the party has a reason to be a suspect if something dodgy were to happen while they're cruising the Nile. There's a disgruntled maid, a shady lawyer, a doctor still carrying a torch for Linnet, a couple of old biddies who either miss their former wealth or won't stop talking about how they gave it away, and on it goes.

It's not until the halfway mark that we actually get to the (first) murder on the Nile. That may be too long for mystery buffs, but the attempt to give the roster of suspects at least some life - and a few pre-murder scenes to allow the impressive cast to play their characters as actual people - will be appreciated by those who either know the outcome or guessed it the second the events leading to murder kick off.

Likewise, despite the 30s-era glamour and luxury, everyone here takes everything extremely seriously (even Russell Brand as the lovelorn doctor never cracks a smile). If you're on this film's wavelength and not just wishing you were watching Knives Out instead, Branagh's approach as director is clearly the right way to go. This story is lightweight fluff any way you look at it, a puzzle built around unlikely people and contrivances; pointing any of this out, even for an instant, would make the whole thing collapse.

No wonder then that Branagh's Poirot is - silly mustache aside - a man tormented by lost love, an OCD sufferer scared to let anyone in, trapped on a boat where people keep being murdered and he's powerless to stop it. 

Terrified by the way death follows him and yet only truly happy when staring at the Pyramids (which are, after all, just giant tombstones), the world's greatest detective is definitely the last person anyone should invite onto a pleasure cruise.

- Anthony Morris

Review: Moonfall

One of the classics of (literal) lunacy in paperback form is George H. Leonard's Someone Else is on Our Moon, a book based entirely on blurry photos of the moon's surface which the author has stared at for hours until he finally saw alien machines and hatches and loads of other cool stuff. That's not a joke: he actually advises his readers to do the same. There's a reason why the cover says "Startlingly Illustrated".

Presumably Roland Emmerich felt simply adapting this directly to the screen would have resulted in a film of limited appeal, as it would largely consist of the author harassing NASA scientists while arguing with fellow crackpots about exactly which moons in our solar system were actually alien spaceships ("all of them?"). Instead, Moonfall takes the basic idea of Leonard's book, bolts on a standard space disaster movie template, and drags things out for 130 minutes when 90 would have done just fine.

Ten years ago Brian Harper (Patrick Wilson) and Jo Fowler (Halle Berry) were happy astronauts on a space shuttle satellite repair mission when Things Went Wrong. A supporting character died, Harper was disgraced, and ten years later he's a earth-bound bum whose wife has left him for some rich dude (Michael Pena), his eldest son (Charlie Plummer) is a hot-rodding delinquent, and who really cares because the moon is about to crash into the Earth and kill us all.

While NASA deputy chief Fowler (who is now divorced but has a Chinese exchange student) is concerned about this top secret news, crackpot loser K.C. Houseman (John Bradley) has also figured out the moon is getting closer by using stolen telescope time to calculate stuff and not by looking at the moon and saying "looks bigger than usual". 

Nobody at NASA will take him seriously for the exact same reasons nobody took George H. Leonard seriously, and by the time we get to see a meeting of the "megastructure" nutjob society ("megastructure" equals "the moon is a spaceship") it really does start to feel like the production company owes Leonard a few bucks.

The moon gets closer, people start to panic, Harper turns out to have been right, Houseman also turns out to be right, everyone else in a uniform is wrong, Donald Sutherland is in the film for maybe three minutes as his character from JFK yet again, and swarms of evil nanotechology are eating humanity's attempts to solve the moon problem. Before long a rag-tag group of previously mentioned heroes are setting off in a spaceship they got out of a museum with "Fuck the Moon" painted on the side to save the day while their loved ones drive around on an increasingly wacky Earth.

Fans of reality will enjoy the way this ignores pretty much everything we know about how gravity and oxygen works, while the big ticket scenes of devastation often lack the required massive carnage and city-wide destruction. Instead, we get meteor showers and giant tides (Chicago gets trashed by both), plus car chases with and without guns, which seems like a failure of imagination in a movie where people are literally being dragged off the surface of the Earth. Fortunately for the plot, more than one extremely heavy object suddenly becomes super-light when the new, closer moon is overhead to lend a hand.

On the plus side, the core cast are likable enough, there are some evil gun-toting rednecks who like to rob refugees, and once the megastructure side of things comes into play in the second half there's more than enough quasi-epic silliness going on to make up for the relatively unimpressive - numerous ominous shots of a giant moon looming over an increasingly shattered Earth aside - disaster on the ground.

As is often the case with this kind of film, the best way to enjoy it is in hindsight as a barely connected series of ludicrous moments. Though even the non-disaster scenes have an enjoyably off-kilter humour to them: if you don't like the scene where the hero literally tries to outright bribe a judge in the lobby of the courthouse, maybe you'll enjoy a trigger happy millionaire Aspen survivalist named (of course) Karen.

- Anthony Morris