Fanboys of the Universe

Few things are more fundamental to human expression, never mind cinematic narrative, as speech. It isn’t merely the words we say, but how we say them. Tone, volume, inflection, cadence. The right combination of all four of these can turn even the simplest words into a profound statement. So what happens when we’re not only denied this ability but told that the use of speech could put us in mortal danger?

The ostensible conflict in Ready Player One, the film version of Ernest Cline’s pop culture cluster-bomb of a novel, involves a corporation that wants to cover virtual reality with advertisements. It’s an odd take on villainy for a film that is entirely fueled by the exploitation of intellectual properties for cheap thrills. Not that that’s entirely a bad thing; even commercials are capable of rising to the level of art every now and again, even commercials that run for 140 minutes.

A good sequel is a marked improvement on the original. Maybe it’s bigger and bolder, pushing the boundaries of the things that made the previous entry successful. It might deepen its internal mythology or twist expectations of the narrative we’ve come to know. The only thing that the pointless Pacific Rim: Uprising does better than predecessor? It’s 20 minutes shorter.

Word of advice for all the people involved in adapting geek properties to the big screen: the words “realistic” and “grounded” are not synonyms for “boring.” This problem pops up all the time when films based on comic books and video games come out. There’s a tendency to play down the more outrageous or fanciful of a properties’ attributes in an attempt to appeal to mainstream viewers who might not be as inclined to suspend that much disbelief (DC Films, I’m looking directly at you). This is certainly the case with the reboot of Tomb Raider, which jettisons the 2001 film’s ridiculousness and fantasy in what turns out to be a completely lateral move.