The Book of Clarence has an energy that’s largely missing from its influences.
When the film isn’t suffocating itself with world-building, it’s wholly given over to corny fan service.
The Takedown’s supposedly inclusionary, pro-immigrant messaging is constantly undermined by puerile and dated humor.
The film’s avoidance of cruel Gold Rush realities is more than made up for by its spirited kineticism.
Ron Howard’s adaptation retains the essential inanity of author Dan Brown’s source material.
Everything in the script signals that the hero must transform himself from an abusive tyrant in the kitchen to the head of a loving and fully functional family.
Even as Samba struggles to hold onto his identity, the film becomes entangled in an identity crisis of its own.
It can’t tell whether it wants to be junk food or not, lovingly poking fun at some Hollywood tropes while shamelessly indulging others.
It only overcomes its deficiencies and gains a modicum of entertainment value precisely when it commits to its illogical storylines and exaggerated plot twists.
Filmmaker Michel Gondry bungles his adaptation of the Boris Vian novel by indulging in homespun craftwork at the expense of plot and character detail.
Ultimately, the time-traveling conceit feels like a shameless ploy to further expand the franchise’s narrative universe.
The premise of The Intouchables alone nearly renders analysis redundant.