Sorry, Emily – but this is no African Queen
Jungle Cruise
Cert: 12A, 2hrs 7mins ★★★★★ The Suicide Squad
Cert: 15, 2hrs 12mins ★★★★★
The Sparks Brothers Cert: 15, 2hrs 20mins ★★★★★
The important thing to know about Jungle Cruise is that it’s based on a Disney theme-park ride. So what, you might say? So was Pirates Of The Caribbean, and that spawned a film franchise that was pretty decent for a long while. Jungle Cruise, by contrast, is derivative, puddle- deep and good only for filling the inevitably rainy family summer holiday afternoon.
I lost track of the number of movies it reminded me of. Given that it’s about a spirited Englishwoman heading up the Amazon in a rickety old boat skippered by a grumpy American just as the First World War breaks out, The African Queen springs instantly to mind. Quite right too; the Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart classic was an acknowledged influence when the theme-park ride was designed back in the 1950s.
But as the immaculately vowelled, be-jodphured Lily Houghton (Emily Blunt) escapes the male chauvinism of London to journey in search of the ‘tears of the moon’ – legendary tree petals that might cure all ills – other old favourites hove into view. Doubly so, given the formulaic presence of Frank the Skipper (Dwayne Johnson) – he maddeningly nicknames her ‘Pants’ because she wears trousers – and her loyal but preening brother, MacGregor (Jack Whitehall). Indiana Jones, obviously. Romancing The Stone, also obviously, along with Pirates Of The Caribbean once a familiar supernatural element materialises. Then there’s The Mummy, Tomb Raider, The Lost City Of Z… I could go on. We’ve seen this sort of topeetopped thing many times before, and done better, too.
Blunt is perfectly good, and Whitehall offers game support, but the visual effects are so-so and Johnson is simply miscast as Frank. The former wrestler always brings an amiable presence and can deliver a funny line, but he really can’t do romantic or sexual chemistry to save his life. It’s filmmaking by t heme- park- ticket numbers and makes you long for Michael Douglas.
James Gunn struck gold when he wrote and directed Guardians Of The Galaxy, the film that finally breathed some comedy and fun into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Now, with The Suicide Squad, he tries to do the same for the rival DC Universe, and comes horribly unstuck.
Without Will Smith as Deadshot and Jared Leto as The Joker, this sequel to 2016’s Suicide Squad feels distinctly second- string, despite Margot Robbie’s return as the always-watchable Harley Quinn. But as a new gang of easily forgettable misfits is dispatched to an island off South America to find out what lurks inside a towering l aboratory originally built by fleeing Nazis, other problems emerge.
Despite the arrival of Idris Elba as Bloodsport, The Suicide Squad turns out to be pointlessly overcomplicated, lacking in a commanding lead and ultimately too silly, both for its own good and certainly for grown-ups.
Far more suitable is The Sparks Brothers, an affectionate and meticulously assembled documentary made by Edgar Wright – he of Shaun Of The Dead and Hot Fuzz fame – celebrating the long creative careers of Ron and Russell Mael, the brothers behind the pop group Sparks. With the flamboyant Russell singing and deadpan Hitler lookalike Ron playing keyboards and writing the songs, they had hits such as This Town Ain’t Big Enough For Both Of Us in the early 1970s and just kept going. Five decades later they’re still making music. At two hours plus, Wright’s documentary is certainly long, but it’s huge fun. The number one documentary all over heaven, apparently.