MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE 3

J.J. Abrams attempts to tether Mission: Impossible with both forlorn heart and continuity neither of which is required. This series of films are episodic by design and can be stripped down to the elemental pleasures of globe-trotting yarns. For a film with a skid-row in media res torture opening, the film’s tonal shifts from morose to rip-roaring (ex. The Vatican City infiltration) are a tad jarring.

Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman dabble with widening our scope of interest into the IMF team but Maggie Q, Jonathan Rhys Meyers and even Ving Rhames are quickly overshadowed by Simon Pegg’s sublime comic relief Benji Dunn. The aesthetic that Abrams elects is a grungy 24 vibe with the spycraft occurring in dark, silhouetted corridors and filmed with unsteady handheld camerawork.

In my humble opinion, Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Owen Davien might be one of my favorite screen villains ever. He speaks in dispassionate tones as if he doesn’t indulge in coffee talk with his captors. His placidly contemptuous attitude towards the composed Ethan is a beautiful counterpoint. He is forthright and matter-of-fact with his threats towards Ethan’s spouse Julia (Michelle Monaghan) and there isn’t an indication that he would be remorseful about killing her on a whim (“Whoever she is, I’m gonna find her and I’m gonna hurt her”).

I admire the notion of Ethan’s dalliance with Julia than the rudderless execution of it. The scene where Ethan discreetly tells Julia that he must furlough on an assignment is poorly hampered by flagrant green screen and a stillborn tempo. It’s the third film in a franchise with no endgame in sight. Why belabor Ethan’s unfounded desire to retire?

Since the second film abused the latex-mask convention, Abrams intelligently enriches the third film with a painstaking glimpse into how the doppelganger masks are molded and the vocal-cord synchronicity, are achieved. For me, the apex of nerve-tingling thrills is the Chesapeake Bay Bridge siege where Davien is salvaged by his operatives and Cruise is nearly flanked by drone missiles. Cruise is clearly jostled by wires into a car in the proximity during the impact and his stuntwork is peerless in its verisimilitude.

Of the CIA overlords who have disbanded the IMF, Laurence Fishburne’s Theodore Brassel might be the most intimidating in its patriotism and written with the most literary prose (“And he remains invisible. He’s a goddamn invisible man. I mean Wells, not Ellison.”). The MacGuffin (the Rabbit’s Foot in this case) is an almost inessential tool for the plot but that doesn’t prevent Mission: Impossible III from being a visceral neutron bomb.

Rating: 3 out of 5

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE 2

John Woo has been and will always be one of the action directors that I genuflect to. His movies are hyperkinetic extravaganzas with dollops of elegiac poetry (the dove trademark, the slow-motion theatrics, etc.). This is the cardinal reason I was eagerly anticipating this sequel and for what it’s worth, Mission: Impossible 2 is a jaw-dropping, flashy Heroic Bloodshed masterpiece.

The terrorist takeover of the 747 is massively irreverent. When Biocyte engineer Dr. Nekhorvich (Rade Serbedzija) is pummeled in the jugular by “Ethan” and it is revealed to be arch-nemesis Sean Ambrose (Dougray Scott) in a latex mask, it’s a shattering shock-to-the-system. This gimmick is reiterated again later and once again it swiftly pulls out the rug from under the audience.

Of the remixes of Lalo Schifrin’s immortal main theme, Limp Bizkit’s thrashing version might be my favorite. It quickens the pulse immediately once the data-encrypted sunglasses explode. This is first installment to introduce the hair-raising mainstay of Cruise performing his own perilous stunts such as the mountain solo climbing without a safety net below him. While certainly awe-inspiring, the motorcycle finale is a nail-biter with a casually cool Cruise sidling next to his bike at top speed and firing with expert marksmanship via his rearview mirror.

Thandie Newton’s cat burglar, Nyah, is a sultry femme fatale and she can be aptly described as a more adroit Bond girl. Her cat-and-mouse car chase in Seville is coyly hormonal and her erogenous relationship with Ethan is a cue to Hitchcock’s 1946 Notorious. The chemistry between Cruise and Newton is high-wattage and it anchors the film with an impassioned conflict-of-interest when Nyah is inoculated with the Chimera virus.

Chinatown author Robert Towne isn’t a doltish hack in terms of banter and his screenplay for Mission: Impossible 2 is replete with sly witticisms (“This isn’t Mission: Difficult Mr. Hunt. This is Mission: Impossible. Difficult should be a walk in the park for you.”). Due to this reason, I’ve never been craving wanton destruction during the midpoint stretch where Nyah is infiltrating Ambrose’s compound.

It’s a satisfyingly slow-burn build-up to an absolutely propulsive ending where Cruise and Scott leap from their bikes to pulverize each other to near smithereens on a sandy beach dune. For these eclectic positive qualities, I always found this second enterprise to be the excitingly scorching black sheep of the series with dynamism to spare.

Rating: 4 out of 5

With Tom Cruise committing his suicide to celluloid (or digital) again for Rogue Nation on July 31st, I thought it would be appropriate to dissect the entries leading up to his latest untenable assignment.

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE
It probably seemed unlikely in 1996 that Tom Cruise, one of the most lionized box office stars, would saddle himself to a franchise when he had a veritable smorgasbord of projects to choose from. And yet five films later with rumors of a sixth installment already unspooling at Paramount Pictures, the espionage brand is at its pinnacle of popularity.

For the first outing, Brian De Palma is the helmsman and it incontrovertibly emblazoned with his hallmarks. A dinner rendezvous where Ethan Hunt (Cruise) is accused of being a double agent is framed with traditional Dutch angles. More than once, he shifts to his most characteristic, neoclassical shot- the POV of a predator in pursuit of their quarry.

De Palma doesn’t overreach into his Hitchcockian worship on this film although the amount of double and triple crosses become absolutely absurd. While it is culpable for the attributes that are synonymous with Mission: Impossible (the latex masks, the gadgetry, the team disavowal), it is also the most tedious of the bunch. Scenes of high-wire tension like the aforementioned combustible-gum escape are showstoppers but they are diamonds hidden within the almost somnambulistic pace and contrivances.

On top of that, Cruise hadn’t quite polished his dashing action chops yet and he often comes across as smarmy in his NOC exchanges with Max (the coquettish cougar Vanessa Redgrave). Judging from these past few paragraphs, it could be construed that I was underwhelmed by this preliminary adventure. On the contrary, the film is redeemed immeasurably by two sequences that are categorized in the annals of action movie history.

The first is the crisply executed harness stunt where Ethan is suspended in a temperature-and-volume-garrisoned room where the slightest sound or rise in heat could trigger an alarm. De Palma wisely ratchets the breathlessness to nearly exhausting lengths with complications from a rat in the ventilation system to a bead of sweat off Ethan’s glass. The second is the Channel Tunnel chase which is still dazzling in its breakneck speed and rear projection for the train.

Yes, it’s mildly disenchanting that the team is dispatched early on (Emilio Estevez’s tech guy Jack Harmon would’ve been an amusingly wiseacre recurring character) and the murder mystery is an inscrutable web of deceit. Nevertheless, the film is urbane, moderately engrossing entertainment of the highest caliber and it spawned the modern-day spy genre.
Rating: 3 out of 5