Fantastic Four

Fantastic Four is one of those frustrating Hollywood exercises designed to infuriate fans of two media instantaneously: film and graphic novels. We had plenty of them through the 80’s and 90’s. We thought we were through when Spider-Man and X-Men showed up, but then Daredevil came along. And now the Fantastic Four. That any amalgam of artists could construct such a lifeless vanilla production from a storied franchise with a half-century of history defies understanding. Fans of film will leave nonplussed; fans of the Fantastic Four fans may very well feel like crying.

Coming on the heels of three triumphant film adaptations – Spider-Man, X-Men, and Batman – the failure of the Fantastic Four is so much more glaring. It has no personality, no human emotion, and not a single awe-inspiring scene. In a comic book film, the latter of that trio is unforgivable. The dialogue in this film makes George Lucas seem like Shakespeare. The characters talk and talk and talk without ever saying anything. It probably doesn’t help Four’s cause that I’m in the middle of watching the last three seasons of the Sopranos. Next to that program – where a phrase like “What you gonna do?” carries the dramatic heft of the Titanic – this film’s exchanges are so pedestrian they could have been squawked out by a Speak and Spell.

For a franchise based around a superhero family, the leads lack any sort of cohesive chemistry. Mr. Fantastic (Ioan Gruffold) is (forgive the pun) a spineless wimp who we never get behind in either his scientific pursuits or his romantic ones. Jessica Alba, for being one of the most sensually exotic women ever creation, has yet to show me any sort of fire as an actress. With Sin City and Fantastic Four behind her, she has one more film left this summer to show me that she has anything to offer celluloid besides her curvy body and beestung lips (though Into the Blue seems to be just another excuse to get her in a bikini).

The biggest tragedy for me was Dr. Doom. My favorite villain of the Marvel canon, this maniacal, old-school dictator has been transposed with some sort of generic billionaire ala Donald Trump. He’s all snarl and moustache twirling with those compelling motivations of power and money. Yawn.

There were moments watching Four that made me sad, because they showed how much fun this movie could have been. Chris Evans oozes Movie Star with his hot rod Human Torch and his mouthy interactions with Michael Chiklis’ Thing are the highlight of the film. Both of those characters work because they’re given personality and dimension (“Am I the only one who thinks this is cool?” Human Torch asks at one point) and the actors run with what they’re given have. Sadly they only make Gruffold and Alba look blander.

It’s pretty clear the suits behind this production intended to make this a family adventure, but as The Incredibles and its ilk have proved that doesn’t require sanitizing conflict and dumbing down dialogue. It requires hiring somebody with comic book cred and vision, not the director of Barbershop. It requires sophisticated understanding of what made the comic compelling for so many years. It requires…. Shit. This is starting to piss me off.

There is one glimmer of hope here. The modern comic book franchises have gotten better the second time around. Spider-Man and X-Men’s sequels both raised the bar over their predecessor. Considering how low Fantastic Four has set their bar, improvement shouldn’t be too difficult.

Final Grade: C-