By Susan Granger
Special to WestportNow
Sci-fi, virtual reality and nostalgic pop culture collide in “Ready Player One,” Steven Spielberg’s adaptation of Ernest Cline’s sprawling 2011 best-seller about a teenager’s quest to win a game that will give him control of a massive digital universe.
Set in 2045 in Columbus, Ohio, the story revolves around Wade Watts (Tye Sheridan), an orphaned nerd, living in “the stacks,” a grimy, vertical trailer park. Like everyone else, Wade spends most of his time immersed in a virtual game-room called the Oasis where one can be whoever one wishes.
Before he died, eccentric tech-genius James Halliday (Mark Rylance) left players one last contest. Whoever can solve three challenges will inherit not only his fortune, worth half a trillion dollars, but also control over the Oasis, which he founded with his partner, Ogden Morrow (Simon Pegg).
Wade Watts has chosen the hipster Parzival as his avatar in the Oasis, playing alongside his best friend, Hulk-sized Aech (Lena Waithe). Wade’s dazzled by the skill and daring of Art3mis (Olivia Cooke), who teams up with them, along with Dairo (Win Morisaki) and Shoto (Philip Zhao). They’re the good guys.
The bad guys are epitomized by Nolan Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn), the ruthless CEO of IOI (Innovative Online Industries), who hires teams of hard core gamers, known as gunters, to find Halliday’s Easter egg, following obtuse clues drawn from trendy memories of every movie, comic book and video game the socially awkward programmer Halliday ever saw or played.
That propels seemingly endlessly chaotic car/motorcycle/monster truck chases through a murky wonderworld to blaring rock music, battling T-Rex, King Kong and Mechagodzilla — with an occasional assist from The Iron Giant.
Co-written by novelist Cline and Zak Penn and spectacularly imagined by production designer Adam Stockhausen and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, it’s adroitly directed by Spielberg, who occasionally injects some sweetness, sentiment and emotional involvement — but not often enough.
On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, “Ready Player One” is an overstuffed, escapist 8, brimming with flashy eye candy and fantastic fanboy ferocity.
Humorist Steve Allen once said, “Comedy equals tragedy plus time.” He added, “Tragedy plus time plus the will to be amused equals comedy. If you don’t have the will to laugh, you won’t be amused — whether it’s by a Chaplin or anyone like him.”
Perhaps that’s my problem with “The Death of Stalin,” Armando Iannucci’s banal attempt to find caustic, slapstick comicality in the amoral ineptitude of high-ranking, ruthless, murderous merchants of torture and death, portrayed here as Keystone Kops.
On March 2, 1953, the Soviet Union’s dictator Josef Stalin (Adrian McLoughlin) suffered a cerebral hemorrhage after ordering a recording of a Mozart concerto he’d heard on the radio from the broadcast’s panicked director (Paddy Considine), who must reassemble the orchestra and piano soloist (Olga Kurylenko), with a replacement conductor, to fulfill the tyrant’s request.
Admittedly, this first, frantic sequence — “a musical emergency” — is amusing.
Viewing Stalin’s comatose body in a puddle of urine, the Central Committee gathers to discuss what comes next. They cannot summon a physician, since all the good doctors have been sent to Siberia.
Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi), Georgy Malenkov (Jeffrey Tambor), Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale), Georgy Zhukov (Jason Isaacs) and Vyacheslav Molotov (Michael Palin) are vying for control.
As Stalin’s body is laid out for public inspection, there are complications with his neurotic daughter, Svetlana (Andrea Riseborough), and alcoholic son Vasily (Rupert Friend), depicted as preening and petty.
After seemingly endless incompetency and jockeying for power, arrogant Nikita Khrushchev emerges as the USSR’s new leader. Then, when Khrushchev attends a concert, he’s unaware that Leonid Brezhnev (Gerald Lepowski), seated behind him, is secretly plotting his downfall.
Based on a graphic novel by Fabien Nury and Thierry Robin, it’s adapted by David Schneider, Ian Martin and Scottish-born director Iannucci (HBO’s “Veep,” “In the Loop”), who assembles a star-studded cast to do his manic, motor-mouth bidding.
On the Granger Gauge, “The Death of Stalin” is a savagely satirical 6 — but it’s not very funny.
“Sherlock Gnomes” would never have seen the light of day if it weren’t for Elton John, who executive produced 2011’s animated “Gnomeo & Juliet.” John and his husband, David Furnish, continue to be amused by the ‘punny’ idea of garden gnomes coming to life.
“The first film was a love story about how gnomes from two battling gardens fell in love,” he explains. “This is new one is an adventure that takes place moved to London from Stratford-upon-Avon.”
It seems that all the lawn ornaments in London are being stolen — like Lord Redbrick (Michael Caine), Lady Blueberry (Maggie Smith) and Mrs. Montague (Julie Walters), along with Fawn (Ozzy Osbourne).
So the legendary sleuth Sherlock Gnomes (Johnny Depp) and his long-suffering assistant Watson (Chiwetel Ejiofor) show up to help Gnomeo (James McAvoy) and Juliet (Emily Blunt) search — before they’re smashed to smithereens.
Looking for clues, Sherlock visits a doll museum, where he runs into his ex, a Victorian doll (Mary J. Blige), who sings “Stronger Than I Ever Was” by Elton John and his longtime lyricist Bernie Taupin.
Utilizing deductive logic, Holmes views his perennial adversary, maniacal Moriarty (Jamie Demetriou), disguised as the little, yellow, pie-boy mascot of Goobarb Pies, as a prime suspect.
Elton John appears in a cameo as a pink, piano-playing gnome. His soundtrack contributions include “Empty Garden,” “Philadelphia Freedom,” “I’m Still Standing” and “Saturday Night’s Alright.”
Working from Ben Zaslove’s bare-bones screenplay, it’s helmed by John Stevenson (“Kung Fu Panda”) who pads it out as much as possible. Except for some imaginative black-and-white sequences, showing what Sherlock is thinking, the animation is not remarkable.
On the Granger Gauge, “Sherlock Gnomes” is a flimsy, forgettable 4. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle must be spinning in his grave.
(Editor’s Note: Westport resident Susan Granger grew up in Hollywood, studied journalism with Pierre Salinger at Mills College, and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with highest honors in journalism. In addition to writing for newspapers and magazines, she has been on radio/television as an anchorwoman and movie/drama critic for many years. See her reviews at www.susangranger.com.)
