★ ½ ☆ ☆ ☆
Tom Hanks returns as Professor Robert Langdon for another
round of basilicas and balderdash in this hokey theological thriller adapted
from Dan Brown’s novel. When Langdon awakens with a suspicious case of memory
loss in Florence, Italy (around 5:42 AM, as the first in a series of pointless
time checks informs us), doctor Sienna Brooks (Felicity Jones) whisks him away
before a series of pursuers attempt to nab him for possible involvement in a
deadly plague engineered by a TED Talking religious fanatic (Ben Foster). There’s
an increasingly irritated Omar Sy as a W.H.O. operative, a lock-jawed assassin
played by Ana Ularu, and Sidse Babett Knudsen doing her very best not to be
dragged down by the cacophony of exposition and nonsense surrounding her.
“I need better from all of you!” she demands of her cohorts,
although the same exasperated call could equally be levelled towards the cast
and crew of this mess. One might argue attempting to transfigure a Brown novel
into anything watchable is a terrible waste of time, but you’d think the
combined efforts of director Ron Howard, lead actor Tom Hanks and composer Hans
Zimmer might be able to salvage something.
Alas, with The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons already testing that
hypothesis to breaking point, Inferno secures
the hat-trick.
After an unwatchable opening – in which Hanks burbles a lot
about Langdon’s freaky visions and the camera shakes all over the place like
the D.O.P. is on a Haribo-only diet – we’re back to the running and explaining
that is the series’ predominant mode of address. There’s some pretention
towards a complex web of conspiracy this time (complete with a plot twist that
couldn’t be more obvious if an usher entered the cinema and announced it via
megaphone), but David Koepp’s screenplay is more face-palming than
head-scrambling. It’s not so much an intricately woven web of intrigue and
deception as it is someone shouting excerpts from the Wikipedia entry on Dante
while tumbling down a helter-skelter.
This half-completed join-the-dots puzzle is mirrored in the
knotted frown lines consistently borne upon Hanks’ forehead and his total,
bizarre lack of chemistry with Jones. Both more-or-less sleepwalk through their
respective roles: he’s been here before, and Jones’ character is particularly
undemanding. Omar Sy’s main job is to run around looking a bit miffed, whilst Irrfan
Khan makes the most of any screen time to chew, savour, and swallow up the
scenery.
However, the moment the film’s cast finally lost me (as I’m
sure will be the case for a vast swathe of the UK audience) came when Paul
Ritter – you know; the foul-mouthed dad, Martin, from Channel 4’s Friday Night Dinner – appeared as a
shady agency overseer. As Langdon and Brooks make another escape, he pulls off
his headset in frustration, and you half expect him to burst out with a hearty refrain
of “Shit on it!”
If you thought some refuge from this execrable ensemble
could be taken in the film’s technical achievements, you’d be wrong, because
there really aren’t any. The framing and composition is all over the place,
with everything ramped up to eleven to give the illusion of excitement. A lofty
spinning shot – the sort that Michael Bay might use to frame a sunset-backed
rocket launch or Ridley Scott to establish the surface of an alien world – is used
here to encompass two people in an empty church reading something scrawled on a
lump of plaster. Zimmer’s score is similarly disastrous, as if a classical orchestra
and a Sega Genesis soundtrack were recorded in the same concert hall.
This is a bittersweet symphony for what could be the final
cinematic outing for the Dan Brown/Ron Howard partnership, now they’ve finally
(read: barely) conducted an entire trilogy. Any small sense of mystery or
thrills has long since been neutered, and even the unintentional comedy
wellspring has definitely dried up. The unspeakable box office takings may
prove me wrong, but I think it’s time to give the bookshelves a good going over
with a charity shop bag (or perhaps a flamethrower) to spare us further
theological tosh.
