Ron Howard’s adaptation retains the essential inanity of author Dan Brown’s source material.
Everything in the by-the-numbers script signals that Adam must transform himself from and 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.