We saw Mission: Impossible III, last night, a serious waste of my precious time. This movie was so disjointed, such a strange mix of action and “feeling” that I still feel a bit whiplashed.
J.J. Abrams directed and helped to write this movie. It certainly shows. As you may be aware, I’ve expressed my opinion regarding another of Mr. Abrams’ creations, and I believe that the first two seasons of Alias continue to be his only worthwhile accomplishment.*
Tom Cruise’s scientology-inspired freakiness now permeates everything he does, to the product’s detriment, and was it me, or did his girlfriend in the movie look like Katie Holmes? I liked P.S. Hoffman in his sociopath role, and Laurence Fishburn also did a credible job as the head IMF bossman, although shades of Morpheus snuck through. There were plenty of explosions and lots of death-defying chases and the requisite baseball pitching machine that you see in every credible action flik. I have a list of questions the length of my leg that are similar to, “Why didn’t the sniper just SHOOT Ethan instead of having the drone come by and blow him up with missiles?” I suppose those sorts of questions happen in every action film, but True Lies still sets the bar—in my own very humble opinion—for plausible explosions and crazy shit (other than the flying-a-Harrier-with-one-hand thing).
Nevermind! I could go on for hours. Suffice to say, I won’t be seeing this movie ever again, and the only reason I would tell someone to see it is so we can complain about it together afterwards.
*Did you know that J.J. Abrams wrote Armageddon, a movie so bad in its science that I’ve been known to vomit profusely on the TV whenever it’s shown? Well, maybe not that bad, but it’s the worst space movie in a long time. Space Cowboys is a close second.