"I Love You So Much Leo, But You Don't Know Me..."
Engaging with and including myself within the small minority who can actually stand up proudly and state that 2016's Warcraft was actually better than most critics gave the movie credit for, Duncan Jones' career has drifted from contemplative low-budget success story (Moon) to big budget science fiction spectacular (Source Code) in a reasonably swift amount of time, and with the release of Mute this week as the latest Netflix original after years of development hell, Jones' long-term project, one deemed as the "spiritual sequel" to 2009's Moon, is finally brought to life, if only on the small screen. Following Alexander Skarsgård's (The Legend of Tarzan) Leo, the titular mute barkeep who attempts to solve the mystery of Seyneb Saleh's Naadirah's sudden disapearance within the heart of a future-world Berlin, Jones' latest is unfortunately a cliched and utterly soulless Blade Runner rip-off, one which attempts to sew together a noir-esque primary plot thread amidst stereotypical Russian gangsters, The Fifth Element style campness and eerily ill-judged set pieces which are as ridiculous as they are jaw-droppingly stupid, resulting in Mute conforming to the fate of The Cloverfield Paradox by being yet another Netflix funded let down.
With Sally Hawkins managing to convey both rigorous emotion and heartwarming depth to a character of similar ilk in Guillermo del Toro's The Shape of Water, the inclusion of Skarsgård's Leo, the speech-free central character of the piece, is somewhat gimmicky and undeniably underwritten, with Hawkins' character necessary in furthering the audience's understanding of the relationship between herself and Doug Jones' aquatic monster, a level of narrative depth which is completely absent from the entirety of Jones' screenplay, resulting in Skarsgård's performance coming off as nothing more than a growling, angst-ridden puppet which is used to facilitate the furthering of plot when necessary. Whilst the opening forty five minutes of the piece is somewhat interesting, even with a heavy handed dose of exposition which explains absolutely everything in a excruciatingly painful paint-by-numbers fashion, the film really turns after a showdown between Leo and Dominic Monaghan's sex facilitator on a bed next to a staggeringly imaginative pleasure doll which resulted in one of the biggest unintentional laughs I will have this year, and with the emergence of the similarly awful Paul Rudd (Ant Man) as the least threatening villain of the year so far and Justin Theroux's (Mulholland Drive) overly misjudged paedophilic sidekick, Mute turns overly wacky and staggeringly dull rather quickly and with a conclusion which doesn't entirely make up for the wait, Jones' latest is annoyingly his weakest work to date, and for a project which took more than a decade to bring to the screen, one could have argued it should have stayed on the cutting room floor.
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