★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dean Israelite's Power
Rangers reboot begins like something from Warhammer 40,000: bruised and bloodied space marines crawl through
the mud of an Earth wreathed in cataclysm, fire and debris raining all around.
Suddenly, I'm excited. Fast-forward a minute later, and we're midway through a
comedy sequence involving a delinquent jock (picture an off-brand Zac Efron)
and accidental bovine masturbation. As a bull's penis dangled forlornly in
front of the camera, excitement was replaced by a desperate yearning for the
preening, harmless self-referential comedy of a Marvel film, even a jolt of
nostalgia for the Christ-complex sincerity of something like Batman V Superman. Everything that Power Rangers gets so badly wrong about
its own property can be summed up by sickening comedy and misplaced
seriousness.
Every sin committed stems from the misguided mindset of
someone who believes that a franchise primarily concerned with camp, fruit
gum-aesthetic abandon would be best revitalised with beastiality jokes, a
subplot about slut-shaming and a running gag concerning the anal insertion of
crayons.
Much like Josh Trank's Chronicle,
the story focuses on a group of disparate teens (all variously interchangeable
angst machines given the vaguest sheen of progressive diversity – I’ll get to
that in a moment) find an underground chamber that gifts them superpowers.
Unlike Chronicle, the drawback to
these abilities isn't mental degradation, but eye-searingly unattractive armour
that crowns the wearer a Power Ranger.
Our wards in this join-the-dots origins story are a
surprisingly diverse central circle: only one of the five is a straight white
male (though, inevitably, he's the leader), another is autistic and one of the
two women carries a suggestion of homosexuality. And that's the key word:
suggestion. The diversity is underplayed, even negligible, with the non-white
characters forced into roles that range from clichéd to problematic to outright
eye-rolling. I'd probably have been able to stand the group as a whole if they
didn't broadcast every single emotion with the conviction and depth of a Hot
Topic t-shirt. During a low point, in which the team's illusion of heroism is
shattered, the Pink Ranger (who chops off her hair because she's, like,
rebellious, see?) sulks in a tank top emblazoned with 'It Was All A Dream'. I
wish.
They're led to heroics by colour-coded crystals buried in
the ground eons ago by Zordon (Bryan Cranston), a pin art-faced ex-Ranger whose
consciousness is sealed in a wall. Bill Hader gets the thankless task of
voicing Alpha 5, a dwarfish CG robot with the grating disposition of Roger
Rabbit. Both deliver exposition so focus-grouped you can practically hear
'registered trademark' after every noun.
Elizabeth Banks (silently screaming a plea for help from
beneath the makeup) plays Rita Repulsa, a galactic sorceress intent on
destroying Earth using the Zeo Crystal, a magical McGuffin buried beneath (and
I promise I'm not making this up) a famous texture-branded doughnut cafe. We're
not talking James Bond and his contractual swig of Heineken here: the product
placement is obnoxious to the point of distraction. If you're prone to bouts of
second-hand embarrassment and insist on seeing this film, bail before the
climax. The brand name is muttered, shrieked and shouted by half a dozen
characters, the villainess herself taking a break during the final
confrontation for a quick nibble, napkins and all.
Predictably, it's a more entertaining sight than the bust-up
itself, which resembles a toddler smacking two action figures together in a
sandpit. This movie exists primarily to sell said toys and fails even in that
regard, because the suits, robots and creatures are unspeakably poor. Having
worked in a toy shop recently, I thought my early exposure would be adequate
preparation, but on-screen the awfulness is horrendously magnified. When they
show up to save the day, I remain surprised (and dismayed) that their arrival
isn't greeted with a swift military strike in place of the intended exultation.
"It's Morphin' time!" exclaims the Red Ranger.
Yes, precisely, I thought. Time to morph into my cinema seat, perhaps. Or the
floor. Or a discarded popcorn bucket. Or my cup-holder. I’ll take anything, anything that will erase my ability to
comprehend another moment of this.
