The year is 1916 in London, and MacGregor Houghton (Jack Whitehall) –brother and assistant to fiercely self-possessed botanist Dr. Lily Houghton (Emily Blunt) – is presenting his sister’s research on the Tears of the Moon – a mystical tree of legend whose petals would revolutionize medicine – to the terribly drab Royal Society in a ploy to acquire a prehistoric arrowhead that would lead to the ancient site. The patient camera pans through the dusty room, backlit by the dry afternoon sun, past countless stuffy academics until it settles on Lily, whose vibrant emerald dress and piercing smile, gorgeously revealed and framed through the tilt of her hat and luminous jags in the otherwise mundane lighting, not only exuberantly accentuates the dull atmosphere but also brilliantly establishes her knack for adventure. Forget any generically amiable, semi-attractive white man that Hollywood could possibly conjure: The sheer radiance and screen presence of Blunt makes her the worthy successor to Indiana Jones and a skilled surrogate for that archetype in Jungle Cruise.
It’s moments of miraculous pastiche like these to classic adventure films that make the first act of Disney’s latest actioner – a cinematic iteration of the famous Magic Kingdom ride, which was itself inspired by The African Queen, a seminal feature of this genre – quite promising. Frank (Dwayne Johnson) – a cynical, seasoned and wily steamboat skipper whom Lily recruits to transport her and MacGregor down a treacherous South American river in search of the Tears of the Moon – even has a cute striped hat that is unmistakably similar to Humphrey Bogart’s; Johnson and Blunt also have an endearing rapport that mirrors The African Queen quite successfully as these characters venture down the river with their chemistry crackling just as much as this rapid body of water flows. These astute characterizations and references smartly lure the audience into an engaging tapestry of full-circle homages, at least initially.
Director Jaume Collet-Serra executes several scenes of intricate, lively slapstick action to rollicking effect here, all before the titular tanker even sets sail. It’s weird that the film is at its best before it literally even treads water. The set pieces have a distinctly cartoonish vibe (If you don’t find Johnson wrestling a CGI jaguar at least slightly entertaining, this certainly is not the film for you), but moreover, for all the bombast, Collet-Serra understands how to let precise character traits fuel the proceedings, enriching the stakes in the process.
Like most adventure films, Jungle Cruise provides the efficient minimum of its characters, but the assured performers deftly reinforce those beats. Blunt and Johnson are obviously game, but other highlights are Whitehall, who overhauls a potentially offensive stereotype of effeminate men into earnest authenticity, and Jesse Plemons as Prince Joachim, a deliciously hammy primary antagonist and World War I German officer who literally pilots a submarine in, once more, a river and methodically eats peas off the back of a fork like a true sociopath. Industry veterans Paul Giamatti and Édgar Ramírez, though, are utterly wasted here, like this film’s ultimate potential.
What begins as a sprightly romp eventually devolves into a bloated studio slog, complete with clunky editing, meager visual effects, and indulgent runtime; Collet-Serra, a significant director of mid-budget pulp pictures like The Shallows or Non-Stop, cannot seem to pivot to big-budget filmmaking beyond his film’s initial trappings. As this river ride begins to take shape, Jungle Cruise takes a detrimental turn when it becomes fixated on cacophonous plotting, deflating any momentum the film had and shifting its homages from delightful to superficial. The film cannot match the creative ingenuity of the classic pictures it wishes to emulate: Not even the most pristine CGI can parallel the real thing.
It simply fails to fulfill its aspirations, plodding in tedious storytelling and convoluted mythology. This film’s abrupt shift from fresh to pedestrian eerily reminded me of Cruella, another Disney summer offering that gradually became hollow. I am quite annoyed with sadistic studio executives who continue to say, “Okay, this is innovative, but what if we simplify the characters and aesthetic to the point of stupefaction while somehow multiplying the plot by approximately quadruple?” Principal photography took place in Hawaii and Atlanta backlots, not the actual Amazon; this feels indicative of a fiscally-obsessed studio that would rather churn and cut corners than refine.
At a certain point, Lily has to become more than “the woman in pants,” and she is somehow streamlined to a love interest. Good adventure films can sustain their thrills with dynamic individuals, not depend completely on spectacle, especially when it is this middling. The only character to receive notable development, though still artificial, is Frank, whose exhaustive and preposterous backstory would have been better on the cutting room floor.
In the end, watching Jungle Cruise is, ironically, like riding most theme park attractions. It provides bursts of intermittent escapism but is ultimately vacuous and forgettable. Even though I wasn’t alive then, I yearn for the days when madmen like Spielberg had the audacity to drag Harrison Ford behind a military vehicle or immerse him in a pit of snakes: At the very least, those experiences were memorable.
Grade: C
Jungle Cruise is now available on streaming services such as Amazon Prime and coming to Disney+ on Nov. 12, 2021.
Photo Credit / Disney
