The Hangover Part III–Review

The Hangover Part III represents the final stages of a drunken party.  If Part I was the crazy fun; Part II represents the stage when the laughter begins slowly dissolves into nausea; then Part III is only the morning headache.  Todd Phillips cruises this third act past the finish line, but not before dumping all its creative assets during an earlier lap.  Part III forgets to incorporate all of its winning elements, save for a mid-ending credits sequence that will either make you appreciate the bonus Easter Egg or walk away in disdain by what could have been.

Phillips and his THREE co-writers deserve only a modicum of credit for not repeating the plot once again — a sin already committed in the first sequel.  However, though the second installment lacked creativity, it, nevertheless, achieved its share of belly laughs and amusing quandaries for our trio of saps (Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms and Zack Galifianakis).  By omitting another roofie mishap and a unconscious night of crimes, cardinal sins against humanity, broken teeth, tattoos, and sodomy, Part III loses any justification for its own existence.

We know we’re in for trouble early when Alan’s father dies into a sequence that’s robbed of humor for many reasons — the first being that it’s so poorly shot that you can barely understand it.  The follow-up funeral has an amusing reveal, but it once again hindered by inept film-making.  There’s also a trifle turn of events that involves a giraffe, which is so clearly CGI (the last film grossed $250 million!  Use a real animal, WB!!) that the dark comic turn is undermined by lack of believability.

The final plot surrounds Mr. Chow (Ken Jeong), the lurid, crazed, Asian drug kingpin from earlier installments, who rips off $20 million in gold bars from crime lord “Marshall” (John Goodman, earning easy pay here).  Because Chow was pen-pals with Alan (Galifianakis) “Marshall” blackmails Alan and co by kidnapping the their pal, Doug (Justin Bartha), and holding his life ransom unless they can track down Chow and retrieve the gold.  Still with me?

The plot focuses on Chow’s nefarious, crude exploits and his Jar-Jar Binks pain-level Asian accent.  Whenever Jeong isn’t chewing at scenes, it’s Galifianakis’s show…clearly.  The comedy doesn’t stem from the trio’s insane situation, but from Alan’s inability to understand anything.  Galifiankis plays Alan so stupid that Phil and Stu would be better suited to simply drop him off in the desert and speed away.  Instead, Cooper and Helms are restricted to exchanging bemused glances while Galifiankis attempts to carry the movie merely on his character’s ineptitude.

The first Hangover became a fan-favorite because it concocted a wondrous mix of suspense and comedy.  The Hangover Part III loses itself by trying to push a ridiculous plot that lacks danger and completely forgets the comedy that should flow naturally from the absurdity of the plot.  As our three “heroes” pursue Mr. Chow, the film attempts to arrange moments of danger, which fail.  Doug, who once again bows out early, is the sole reason that the trio chase Chow from Tijuana all the way back to Vegas, where nothing remotely dazzling happens other than an embarrassing moment when Alan and Phil tie bed sheets together (always a bad choice) and climb down the rooftop of Caesar’s Palace.  It’s a moment that attempts to manufacture suspense out what should be an easily descent.  Did I mention NONE of it is funny? 

The film goes further in its infinite list of mistakes by trying to ingrain some emotion.  There’s a ridiculous romance between Alan and a pawn shop owner, Cassie (Melissa McCarthy).  Galifiankis falls back on cliches such as bumping into items repeatedly while being spellbound in love. He does it twice, because repeated jokes always get funnier on the second round.  Right?  This is as amusing as the film gets!

I hated The Hangover Part III.  I loathed the very audacity of it!  The idea that supposedly brilliant comedic filmmakers attempted to conjure a movie out of nothing.  There is not one singular moment (other than the “F-You” end-credits scene) that replicated the fun of its predecessors.  Instead, it takes our stars and deprives two of them of having any worth other than insuring Helms and Cooper will earn the easiest, fattest paycheck since Marlon Brando made Superman.  Galifiankis takes center stage with hijinks’s so lazy, so unfunny, so awful that the comedian’s stock can only crumble from this embarrassment.  I’m over my hangover.  Heed my prescription and avoid at all costs.  Taking two aspirin before and after is insufficient medicine to numb this pain.   

How I’d Fix Star Wars

If you trace back through the official cannon of the Star Wars timeline, you may recall that the saga concluded when  Lando Calrissean swooped in and demolished the second Death Star and ridded the galaxy of a tyrant.  You could argue that it was a metaphor for the turning tildes brought about by the prequels to follow.  In this case, the Death Star is Star Wars, which George Lucas labored for decades to build only to — with one perfectly aimed shot — start a chain reaction that lead to its ultimate destruction.  OK, maybe that’s too harsh. 

Regardless how you might appraise the current status of the galaxy far, far away, Disney has promised to restore the once heralded sci-fi opus to its former glory (and justify its hefty $4 billion investment).  The chain of announcements have been greeted with a mix of hurrahs — and ambivalence.  Nerds decried the studio’s choice of J.J. Abrams because…he has already captained the Enterprise for that other sci-fi saga.  Yet, it would seem most fans welcomed the return of Luke, Leia, and even Han, despite that fact that 30 years have brought about the aging process.  For example, Ford has shifted from a dependable leading man into a cankerous, lifeless dullard.  He literally screams grandfather on the verge of Alzheimer’s who bitches about constantly misplacing the TV remote.  Fisher no longer services our masturbatory fantasies, but resembles our grandmother. 

Despite all of the heartache and whirlwind of feelings; worries that the saga has bypassed its resuscitation period, there remains a new hope that this trilogy will rekindle our love for of all things Jedi and Wookies.  In order to restore Star Wars, there simply must be both concessions and imitations of the original trilogy (1977-1983).

First, Mark Hamill has made it plain that his heroic Luke Skywalker will not be the main attraction of episodes 7-9, but will serve as a supporting player meant to usher in a new cast.  For Han, Luke, and Leia to serve a story, the story must incorporate the decades that has passed since they last donned blasters and lightsabers.  Hamill, who did a remarkable job transforming from a doe-eyed farmer boy into a mature, wise, Jedi Knight, should tackle a mentor role akin to Obi Wan. 

But I’d go further.  Why not make Luke the main antagonist?  Perhaps turn Luke into a Master of Evil — unable to avert the same errors as his father, who did so even under the scrupulous gaze of Obi Wan and a thousand Jedi Knights.  Turning Luke evil would serve as a tremendous plot point and imbue the newest saga with the ultimate sense of irony and tragedy.

Leia, who was revealed to be Luke’s brother and an obvious heir to the Jedi principles, would serve as an ideal trainer in her own right.  A remarkable twist and fresh take would have Leia transition from Princess/politician into a Jedi Master, who would act as the fresh protaginists’ mentor.  How many times has a woman served as a the wise counselor? 

The most difficult would be Han, who would likely serve as a leading political enactor in, presumably, the New Republic.  Having a geriatric Han don the vest and blast-in-holster would present the larger challenge.  However, seeing Ford present Han in a even larger rougher-around-the-edges persona would be the most obvious character element and the least challenging for Ford, who, let’s face it, probably wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The original Star Wars saga based its core story around three principal characters engaged in an epic struggle.  Despite the introducing a slew of fresh characters, the story remained fixated on them and their development within the grander scheme.  The prequels attempted to engage us to a younger Obi Won, Anakin Skywalker and his wife, Padme, but the story became convoluted with other elements to deterred from the romance, such as endless discussions between lifeless Jedi Council members and — even worse, politicians engaged in Senate debates. 

Let’s compare brief scenes when the audience is provided lots of information.  There’s the original saga’s battle strategy sequences in which we, the audience and cast, are presented schematics and plans for engaging in the destruction of their respective Death Stars.  In both cases, the attention remains focused on Luke, Leia and Han.  The sequence shows their reactions (Luke’s serious attentiveness, Han’s bemused doubt).  It presented character on top of pertinent plot details.  The prequels, however, presented blank stares from the principals — as if they’re just as eager to adjourn the long-winded debates as much as the audience. 

The prequel trilogy removed most of the magic and mystery.  Rather than reflect on a once great Jedi society and the “more civilized age”, we were thrown point-blank into it — and the actual world was not what we imagined it to be.  In order to restore Star Wars, J.J. Abrams and crew must reconnect audiences to the awe and wonder of a galaxy far, far away.  There must be mysteries — things better left unsaid.  The biggest challenge facing the sequels while finding a balance point that catches us with up with the characters without turning episode 7 into one long recantation of thirty years of backstory.  Abrams has demonstrated a competent balance action and character.  He allows second-hand characters to pop in and serve a purpose rather than striving very hard to justify their involvement.  (Case in point, Jimmy Smits.)

J.J. Abrams also seems to understand some of the reservation elements as demonstrated in his 2009 version of Star Trek.  For example, when the Enterprise arrives late to engage the evil threat, they witness the horrible aftermath of a great battle.  We see an infinite array of wrecked star ships and debris.  Abrams wisely avoids showing the fight, but instead let’s us glimpse at the destruction, which leaves a haunting sense of menace and danger.  It mirrors the same moment when Luke and Han arrive to Alderaan only to see it has been demolished.  There’s also the great reveal when Han, Leia and Chewie are greeted by Darth Vader in Cloud City. 

Of course, the original Star Wars saga remains a classic, not because of its dazzling effects, action sequences or space battles, but because the characters came to life and mythos stayed with us even as technologies advanced.  The biggest folly of the prequels have been their core: the script.  There is not ONE single line the rings in our conscience; not one potent quip that echoes the staying power as much as “Do, or do not, there is no try”.  You get the sense that George Luca’s prequels scripts are merely serviceable to push the plot forward, to unveil the magical qualities of his ILM team.  Despite the massive success of New Hope, Lucas wisely kept the human elements intact in the sequel.  Some of the greatest moments are between Mark Hamill and a puppet — no special effects (other than the puppet). 

One of the biggest debacles of the prequels has been the mishandling of John Williams’ brilliant score.  The prequels lacks the same emotional gravity, mainly due to the underwritten character arcs.  However, you get a sense that Williams is writing music no longer tied within the confines of the Star Wars universe.  For example, if you listen to the original Star Wars soundtracks, each presents a unique series of cues and emotional weight.  Williams invested many cues from themes, such as Luke and Leia and retreaded on it to remind us — consciously or not — how the scenes connect to earlier phases in the story.   

The prequels, on the other hand, do not contain the same level of uniqueness.  Each prequel film contains at least one brilliant orchestration (Duel of the Fates from Episode 1, Battle of the Heroes and Anakin’s Betrayal in Episode 3).  However, there is a repetition to each, whereas the music used for Luke’s two separate confrontations with Darth Vader present a more unique sound that perfectly captures the disparate emotion involved.  The prequels have a sense of deja vu, whereas the earlier installments did not. 

J.J. Abrams announced that Williams would return to the third trilogy.  He remains a maestro of the medium, the man who gave soul to the saga.  And I believe he’s reached his peak and that it’s time for him to pass the baton to Abrams’ regular musical scribe, Michael Giacchino.  To me, Michael would imbue the saga with a fresh coat of musical paint and resurrect the soul that was clearly lacking from Williams’ last three films. 

For episodes 7, 8, and 9 to be successful, Abrams must recognize that the original trilogy served well by its limitations.  It remained true to an undying philosophy that good triumphs over evil; that love and friendship permeates even within the dark, empty void of space; that our imaginations remains the purest, most ultimate special effect; and that a good tale that reaches in the crevices of our soul make all of the remaining imperfections feel irrelevant.  Also, removing any trace of kid actors or racial stereotypical aliens wouldn’t hurt.  Regardless, these underlying principals may save Star Wars. 

J.J., heed my advise and help bring balance to the Force.  Live Long and Prosper!  (Yes, nerds, there’s enough room for both sci-fi sagas!)

Star Trek Into Darkness–Review

Star Trek Into Darkness slows its engines to impulse power and  refuses to steer too far off course from 50 years of cannon or even from its 2009 predecessor.  Despite some original patches, it feels like its treading the same water.  It faces the same issue I had with the first two Harry Potters in which I’ll forever struggle to recall which scene belongs to which movie.  (Harry fights a snake in the first one, right?)  

For its first three quarters, the sequel appears to eclipse the original.  The principal cast looks more secure in their respective roles.  You can feel the invisible tender touch of Shatner, Nimoy and Kelly as they cradle their younger fore-bearers.  But, unlike the 2009 film, which playfully reflected, mocked, paid homage and blatantly referenced the original, this sophomoric effort dips too close to the source material.  The trifle references are fine and dandy until the third act, which bases itself too close around a crucial moment we Trekkies already know oh so well.  For those lacking Star Trek knowledge, you will either consider yourself thankfully ignorant or terribly confused.  Despite your history with Gene Roddenberry’s universe, Star Trek Into Darkness feels like a regurgitation rather than a reinvention.

The sequel begins splendidly with a pre-title action sequence that not only shatters our senses gleefully but reintroduces us to Enterprise crew and even sprinkles in touches of their respective relationships, despite the chaos.  After Captain James T. Kirk (played once again with beautifully cockiness by Chris Pine) disobeys Starfleet protocol, he is demoted by Admiral Christopher Pike (Bruce Greenwood, who once again carries the heart of the film).  When the Starfleet command is assassinated by a mysterious super-being (Benedict Cumberbatch), Kirk must re-assume command and give chase that leads the Enterprise to the Federation’s arch-enemy, the Klingons and their home world of Kronos.

Once again directed by future Star Wars mastermind, J.J. Abrams, Star Trek Into Darkness manages to push at a lightning pace while sidestepping for some fun character idiosyncrasies.  The problem is most of the human follies are repeats of the first, such as Kirk’s cockiness, Spock’s logical tunnel-vision, Uhura’s relationship woes with Spock, and ‘Bones’ McCoy’s unnerving cantankerousness.  Engineer Montgomery Scott (Simon Pegg) is given the biggest boost in this round.  Pegg seems to feel better with his Scottish accent and carries a few tender moments (and some of the best laughs), whereas Sulu and Checkov remain suitably restricted to manning the helm just as their poor acting forefathers.

The film remains Star Trek.  There’s the warping (which now leaves behind trails of some bizarre dusty substance) and the numerous space battles.  However, none of the suspense sequences contain the same level of gravity as the first.  Also, the final revelation behind Cumberbatch’s diabolical scheme lacks real weight.  If you’re unfamiliar with earlier Star Trek cannon, you may not care at all.  There’s no planetary destruction — or even the threat of it — in this round.

The unengaged plot is saved by Cumberbatch (star of the brilliant BBC show Sherlock) who oozes with menace and is able to instill an added dimension, which is missing from most of the protagonists.  His deep, baritone voice exudes venom with every syllable, even at the crucial moment when he finally reveals his true identity.  Cumberbatch milks the reveal with every last ounce, even if the internet-hungry nerds have already spoiled the suprise.  However, the buildup to his final wrath is negated.  His final moments feel cheap and unfulfilled. 

The humor is less balanced in this round.  The quips from Bones, for the most part, fall flat.  Despite the comfort of seeing Spock and Kirk work on friendly terms, there’s less juicy rapport for them to bounce off each other.  There’s a moment when you expect Scotty to repeat some of his fun Laurel and Hardy routine with his weird green companion (now a Starfleet crew member), but it never does.  One also wishes the film would delve further into the relationships and find the humor in their disparate personas.  I specifically would like to see the Spock/Uhura romance carry into the bedroom so we finally learn how the logical Vulcans handle coitus. 

The constant dogfights, gunfights and fistfights serve as a reminder of where J.J. Abrams has envisioned Star Trek.  Although the 2009 film was filled with the same hyperbolic action, there were moments — however slight — that hearkened back the meditative principals of Star Trek.  Unlike Star Wars, Star Trek was about exploration and intrigue, whether it was philosophical, political, scientific, or religious.  Part of the joy of Star Trek was seeing Kirk, McCoy and Spock mull over their situation and debate over high levels of emotion (McKoy), logic (Spock) and a happy center (Kirk).  Also missing is the original’s emotional gel, such as Kirk’s father’s tragic end in the film’s opening or destruction of the planet Vulcan. 

This installment’s big emotional turn is also the film’s breaking point.  Before this moment, 90% of the film worked.  But the parts that follow simply don’t, but seem to undermine the film maker’s sincerity and the emotional crescendo.  Without spoiling anything (although the moment is briefly revealed in the trailer) it doesn’t take a Trekkie to guess the ironic spin Abrams is cooking.  The prelude to the final conflict contains a two-punch whammy.  The first mistake was slightly forgivable; the other was not.  (Hint and possible spoiler: It involves a scream)  The film’s self-aware nature breaks the fourth wall and took me completely out of the film — to which I never fully recovered.  Also, the final confrontation that follows feels slight in comparison to the rest of the film and certainly fails to live up to the final wallop of the earlier installment. 

Abrams has taken 50 years of Star Trek and reinvigorated it — and afforded himself liberties to take the Enterprise on whatever journey he wishes. To my surprise, he turned his second voyage into a large set-up all the way towards an unfunny punchline.  At this time, Abrams has proven his worth and should refrain from dipping into the well.  Star Trek Into Darkness suggests that Abrams’ permanent move from Trek to Wars is, perhaps, a smart one.  The latter is clearly more suitable to his sensibilities.  Let’s hope he can bring balance to the Force and that his Trek replacement will — FINALLY — take the third installment and boldly go where no one has gone before. 

Coming soon to home video…part 4: Why I still buy discs

Netflix has recently announced that nearly 2,000 movies titles were being removed from its streaming library.  We won’t know the extent of the damage until we conduct a queue count.  I did a spot-check and noticed that the classic Star Trek episodes remained intact.  In fact, I noticed some new additions, such as 1996’s Big Night whose video rights were, somehow, reacquired.  But many of the Warner Bros. classics were gone — seemingly forever so the studio can trumpet their own competing streaming service. 

Despite Netflix’s recent PR worries — decried price hikes and slimming movie library — it remains one of the best deals in entertainment.  For $7 a month, you’re guaranteed enough movies and television to run for an entire month (nay, an entire LIFESPAN) without interruption or repeats.

This seemingly perfect viewing option has its caveats.  You’ll never have access to everything that was recorded on celluloid (or digital).  You can never own any of it.  That’s where I fall back on discs.

Before the magical movies fairies sent movies directly into my television, I grew up with VHS.  Throughout the 80s and 90s, I accumulated enough titles to build a small house (during an evening of immense boredom, I constructed a cabin).  In the 2000s, I switched to DVDs and never looked back.  (Once again, I amassed enough to built a spare bedroom).  This decade, I’ve obsessed over blu-rays.  Although the newest format ultimately triumphed over HD-DVD (remember those?), the latest physical media has had a steep climb against the streaming craze.

Streaming, unlike VHS, DVD, blu-ray, remains a rental service.  We don’t own any of the films or shows.  Services like Netflix, Hulu, Pandora, Crackle, Vudu, and HBO Go provide our entertainment at a convenience.  But most, if not all of the content is subject to licenses and, as Netflix demonstrated, are subject to losing it. We’re merely borrowing. 

With physical media, we never have to worry about our cherished films disappearing and, possibly,  reappearing.  Once it sits in our libraries, it’s there forever. 

The beauty of blu-rays is they’re resilient, as opposed to VHS, which deteriorated with each playback and DVD, which was prone to scratching.  Each blu-ray disc is coated with a strong protective plastic layer that has been tested against steel wheel — although I dare not test it myself.  I can fling one across the house!  I even use Godfather Part III as a coaster because…why not?  These plastic circles will outlast me.  Certainly, there will be newer formats, but the countless blu-rays that sit on my shelf are, in fact, mine.  Despite any hiccups in internet speed and licensing agreements, I shall not be moved.   Blu-rays are forever.

The benefits with streaming services is they’re fast and easy.  A few clicks on the remote can deliver a film much faster than a blu-ray.  The detriment to physical media is that studios’ insist on subjugating us to previews and countless studios logos that cannot be skipped.  Studios do themselves a disservice by making blu-rays more cumbersome and laborious.  Hollywood is desperate to keep the home video market whole.  So why make the blu-rays less appealing with unwanted ads and logos?  I gather I’ll see the logo at the start of the film.  Besides, who remembers the studios anyway?

Netflix and other services remain a haven for our curiosities.  This new frontier comes at a price where we depend on services to maintain licenses and agreements for the span in which we wish to revisit our cherished movies.  But streaming only allows to sample films or bask in a one-course meal.  Home video remains a diet that repeatedly satisifies an appetite in a seemingly virtual world.  I don’t believe in owning art, but I do believe in owning the freedom to access such art at my disposal.  Like the best of films, I’ll cherish my discs as long as I will cherish the art of film — or until the next technology surfaces.   

RIP: Ray Harryhausen

Today, Hollywood lost one of its great magicians.  Ray Harryhausen — the stop-motion and special effects pioneer — died today at the age of 92. 

To me, Harryhausen remains an icon as large as a Tom Cruise or Arnold Schwarzenegger.  You never saw him on camera.  His movie stars were mere one-feet tall puppets, who, thanks to Harryhausen’s genius, became wondrous and occasionally terrifying feats of fantasy and imagination. 

In lieu of his death, we will hear a collage of respect and tributes from all corners of the Hollywood industry.  Every special effects artist remains in his debt.  Even the wizards behind the most recent spectacle, Iron Man 3, will be tipping their hats. 

Admittedly, I haven’t seen but half of his films.  However, my all-time favorite special-effects sequence remains the climatic duel with the skeletons from Jason and the Argonauts, which took Harryhausen months to complete.  I’ve seen the actual film only a handful of times, but I’ve rewatched the three-minute sequence dozens more.  It remains flawless.  The skeletons exude a menace and life to them; they balance and shift their bodies with utmost believability.  They clash swords with their human foes with pitch-perfect timing.  The sheer amount of life and imagination remains astonishing, even in a digital 21st century world. 

Harryhausen’s illustrious career began with 1950’s Mighty Joe Young where he apprenticed with Willis O’Brien, the man who gave life to the original King Kong.  Following that success  Harryhausen established his own legacy, creating the most spectacular monsters and fantastic creatures for decades — ending with his piece de resistance, 1981’s Clash of the Titans, where he produced some of his memorable creatures such as Pegasus, Madussa and The Cracken. 

Harryhausen lived a peaceful, quiet retirement while many wizards attempted to fill in the gap.  Just recently, I re-read his last book “A History of Stop-Motion” that covered the history and grueling process of Harryhausen’s stop-motion background.  The book also pays homage to many of his disciples, including Phil Tippet (The Star Wars Trilogy, Jurassic Park) and Henry Selick (Nightmare Before Christmas, Coraline).  It is a fascinating read that makes you appreciate the marvel at the process.  Artists would spend days marionetting puppets one frame at at time just to capture a minute of usable footage. 

Despite the ease of CGI, Harryhausen’s stop-motion techniques permeate in today’s market.  Millions of amateur film-makers try their stop-motion hand using their respective cameras and Final Cut Pro, but no one has replicated Ray’s amazing ability to instill life into puppets.  His work continues to enchant us — to make us wonder. 

As I’ve gotten older and technology has blossomed, I’ve only grown to appreciate Harry even more.  For my thirtieth birthday, I spent the evening at my local theatre, which was playing two of his best films: Jason and the Argonauts and The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad.  Seeing both in 35mm on a big screen only exemplified Ray’s keen attention to detail and character.  His sure-fire hands made his characters unique and glorious in many ways that newer technological feats have failed. 

Harryhausen’s work defies the rule that special effects should appear real.  Despite the technological advancements, I defy you to name another special effects sequence that was so memorable as his skeleton army.  His creatures were never photo-real — but they represented the bridge, the fog, that divided the realms between reality and dreams. 

Even when Harryhausen’s movies faltered in story and acting, his creatures remained dazzling and, in most cases, stole the entire show!   Ray’s spellbinding feats remain an impregnable body of work with unabated affection and imagination.  He personifies an era in which ingenuity (and brilliance) was the greatest tool to providing a window pane into our dreams.  Wherever you are, Ray, thank you for making your dreams into a reality. 

Iron Man 3–Review

Shane Black’s Iron Man 3 is a fresh combination of 80s formulaic action and 21st century bells-and-whistles.  You get the impression that if Black could get away with it, he would have cast Mel Gibson in the title role and Danny Glover as Iron Patriot (or War Machine depending on which nerd you ask).  There’s a loving tribute to the films that made Shane Black, at one time, the highest paid, most coveted screenwriter.  Like his best work, it’s fun no matter which scene you watch, whether it involves Iron Man dodging rockets or merely his human counterpart, Tony Stark laying on a couch pontificating over his traumatic history. 

Since the New York battle in The Avengers, Tony (played to sardonic perfection by Robert Downey Jr.) is suffering from PTSD.  Supposedly, terrorism abductions and betrayals (Iron Man 1) or ambushes from whip lashing Russians (Iron Man 2) don’t ruffle the billionaire playboy the same way as aliens and wormholes.  No matter.  The newly frazzled Tony is an interesting distraction.  But Black goes further by neutering Tony early when his Malibu mansion is attacked and destroyed (along with all of Tony’s precious Iron Man suits) by the terrorist kingpin, The Mandarin (Ben Kingsly).  Suspected dead, Tony winds up in a snow-covered Tennessee town, where he licks his wounds, pieces together his armor and forms a brief friendship with a doe-eyed, hero-worshipping boy, Harley (Ty Simpkins).

Yes, Tony spends a great deal of the third installment devoid of his armor or fancy toys.  And it’s the best portion of the movie, delving into Black’s specialty: juicy, nails-on-the-head dialogue.  Black even rejuvenates the once very dated hero/young boy, father/son dynamic and has fun with it.  There’s a wonderful twist on the guilt-ridden boy, who usually would imbue sympathy and affection from our hero.  But this is Tony Stark, after all.

The best part of all the Iron Mans is the moments when they strip Tony of all of his armor.  The three best sequences are all Tony and no Iron Man.  This was true of the first (Tony’s middle-eastern imprisonment) and second (Tony’s racetrack ambush).  Black plays with Tony’s dependency on technology and even invents crafty ways of implementing the Iron Man mechanics without jeopardizing the jeopardy.  For example, Tony can now call his armor using implanted sensors, which leads to some humorous and occasionally hilarious technological bugs.  Although Black’s humor falls back on pitch-perfect executed puns, he uses at least two visual gags that had me in stitches. 

However, all of the earlier sequences are breath-taking and Black instills them with a sense of danger, which is something clearly missing from The Avengers.  There’s an attack of air force on and a flight to rescue passengers in free-fall that is nail-biting. 

Iron Man 3 is the first third installment of a comic book saga to stay afloat — and even surpass the earlier installments on most fronts.  It only falters near the end when Black falls back on the formula.  The climatic action sequence becomes too frenetic.  It also involves two factions in which our heroes — at least on paper — clearly have the upper hand and the sense of urgency is all but lost.  Iron Man 3 lacks some of the heart from the original.  The final five minutes feel rushed, as if to put a pretty bow on the trilogy rather than evoke some sense of finality and closure to many of the human elements. 

Despite that closing, Iron Man 3 is the film Iron Man 2 should have been.  Although following in the cloud of the massive Avengers, Black manages to filter in just enough references to the extended Marvel Universe without making it a major subplot — or a large commercial for other films.  Iron Man 3 is a remarkable blend of suspenseful action and a comic-booky story that embraces its insanity rather than ridicule it.  As far as I’m concerned, Black can have any comic book franchise he wants.  He’s the first to take a third pitch and hit a home-run. 

NOTE (POSSIBLE SPOILER!): Tony’s seemingly unnecessary opening and closing narration turns into one giant set-up for the joke during the post-credits sequence.  It’s the first punchline that most audiences won’t get unless they know the Marvel Universal tradition of waiting forever for a 30-second Easter Egg. 

However, it does beg the question: Why doesn’t Tony ever call on his Avenger buddies? 

Answer: The movie would only be 20 minutes.