In Immortals, gods and humans alike are decapitated, eviscerated, bisected, exploded, stabbed, speared and, in one case, castrated with a giant mallet. It's enough to make you nostalgic for the pacifism of 300.
Yet for all the gob-smacking violence, the most glaring clash here isn't between otherworldly deities and their worshippers, but between the artistry of the gifted director Tarsem Singh and the requirements of a formulaic Hollywood blockbuster.
The gorgeously-inert result -- as savage as it is silly -- belongs to neither world. Cinephiles who revere Singh's ornate, hyper-stylized work -- The Fall, The Cell and such music videos as REM's Losing my Religion -- will be bored by the leaden, rote screenplay. Conversely, moviegoers who flocked to 300 and Gladiator will likely be put off by Singh's visual eccentricities.
Henry Cavill -- soon to be seen as Superman in Man of Steel but best known from The Tudors -- stars as Theseus, a stalwart stonemason raised by a single mother who is chosen by Zeus (Luke Evans) to lead humanity against Hyperion (Mickey Rourke), a power-crazed king bent on unleashing the titans of myth: nightmarish hordes imprisoned by the gods following a celestial war at the beginning of time. To do this, our villain requires the Epirus Bow, the single long-hidden weapon that can free the titans; basically, it's a bow that generates an endless supply of thunderbolt arrows.
Before you -- or Theseus, in this case -- can cry "Noooo!" the conflict becomes personal (you can guess why). He assembles a motley band of unlikely allies, including the virgin oracle Phaedra (Freida Pinto) and scruffy sidekick Starvros (Stephen Dorff), to aid in his quest to thwart Hyperion's armies.
Less helpful are the gods themselves -- namely Athena (Isabel Lucas), Ares (Daniel Sharman) and Poseidon (Kellan Lutz) -- who are forbidden by papa Zeus's prime directive from interfering with human history (although that doesn't prevent them from bending the rules, or the laws of physics). Along the way, there are chases, sword fights, stirring speeches a la "They'll never take our freedom!", sieges and a climactic showdown with the fate of humanity dangling in the balance. On paper, it's absolutely nothing you haven't seen before, and often.
Yet on screen Immortals is elevated by Singh's Caravaggio-inspired imagery, rendered as though lifted directly from a Renaissance-era canvas. Take, for example, the opening sequence that reveals the imprisoned titans who, while demonic, aren't rendered as CGI monstrosities a la the Kraken, but as shackled humanoids. Similarly, Singh's gods are uniquely young and virile, costumed in barely-there gold (as opposed to bearded Liam Neeson's Excalibur-esque armour in Clash of the Titans).
The downside to the static picturesque storytelling? The film at times feels as airless and obviously enclosed as the soundstage-produced Cecil B. DeMille opuses of the 1950s. And just as distracting is the inconsistency of the performances, which range from very good (Cavill) to fine (Pinto) to bafflingly contemporary (Dorff).
All of which means Immortals is just too strange and striking to dismiss, and too flawed to recommend. As with all admirable messes, blame it on free will.
