Fantastic Fuck Up
Fantastic Four (2015) directed by Josh Trank, an epic mistake of a movie in every way, is the kind of cultural atrocity that should be covered up and forgotten forever. If this movie were a person I’d take it to a cornfield in the middle of nowhere and beat it to death with a baseball bat. Since that isn’t an option this review is the metaphorical equivalent.
Fantastic Four wastes no time immediately feeding it’s audience a large plate of horse shit with a precocious young Reed Richards standing in front of a forth grade class presenting his hypothesis that it is possible to teleport objects, saying he’s “done the math, and it checks out.” Right away I’m expected to believe that a SEVEN YEAR OLD has taught himself advanced mathematics to the point of being able to verify something that MIT scientists and NASA deem impossible. Reed then goes to a junkyard and with the help of his classmate and newly made friend, Ben Grimm, scavenges enough old air-conditioner and N64 parts to create this teleportation device which ACTUALLY opens a portal to another dimension: What amazing little baby Einsteins!
High school and an immediate acceleration of the horse shit express. 10 years after creating the most groundbreaking invention known to man these high school geniuses (who look mysteriously like a 28 year-old Miles Teller and a 29 year-old Jamie Bell) have taken their work to the place where all the world’s most amazing inventions were discovered, the local high school science fair. Their science teacher thinks teleporting objects is BOORRRRING and is ready to give them a big fat F, when, lucky for them, government scientists just happen to be wandering the gym searching for greatness among the model volcanoes. Reed Richard’s is scooped up and sent off to a lab run by other high school geniuses and commences to building a machine that can send four lucky assholes to another dimension.
Why would someone trust children to make a teleportation device? Haven’t any of these people seen “The Fly”? A lot can go wrong. Why, if you are going to hire 28 year-olds to act in this movie anyway, do you not just make the characters working for NASA . . . or MIT . . . or the University of Nebraska . . . or the ITT technical institute . . . or ANYWHERE BUT A FUCKING HIGHSCHOOL?
Oh well, who cares, let’s not get bogged down by logic, we’re just getting to the good stuff: Enter Sue Storm, Johnny Storm, and Victor Von Doom. Johnny Storm (Michael B. Jordan) can build anything, except for a car that actually works. Sue Storm (Kate Mara) is really good at reciting poetry in the library and giving Reed Richard’s MASSIVE hard-ons, and Victor Von Doom (Toby Kebbell) is an expert hacker who scours the dark web for child-porn and occasionally takes breaks from masturbating in a dimly room to create the OS for dimension teleportation devices.
And there it is, the team’s all together. Let’s take this opportunity to discussion the acting. These are all good actors and yet watching Fantastic Four it feels like everyone is working off some sort of loan sharking debt. I wouldn’t be surprised if Miles Teller’s family was being held hostage just off screen and the only way he could get 20th Century Fox to set his poor Yaya free was to make this terrible movie. Seriously. Watch his eyes: he periodically glances to the side of the screen right next to where the camera would be, that’s his Grandma screaming in pain as her fingernails are getting ripped out.
Soooooooooo, after these wunderkinds finish their invention, in the only bit of the movie that makes logical sense, NASA decides to send astronauts through it to another dimension instead of them, but “nah fuck that” says the group of 18 year-olds, we made it, we’re gonna be first to go through. They suit up, call the idiot junkyard owner who they grew up with to tag along, and blast off to another dimension (aka a shitty green screen studio).
It’s always amazing when Hollywood writers think they are being clever but inadvertently reveal to the world that they are, in fact, idiots. And that’s exactly what happens next: the Fantastic Four get their powers when shit goes wrong in another dimension. How do you get firepower? Being burned alive! How do you get stretch power? Getting your leg stuck under a rock and trying to pull yourself out! How do you become a giant rock monster? By getting a bucket of rocks dumped in your face! And how do you get the ability to turn invisible? By having absolutely no charisma and being a completely forgettable, one-dimensional character. Bam! Fantastic four bitch!
All the build up to this ridiculous origin story takes over an hour and if you have half a brain it’s right about this point in the movie where your bullshit meter maxes out, your eyes glaze over and you go into a seizure, so allow me to speed through the last half of this movie as quickly as possible.
The Fantastic Four figure out to use their powers and Dr. Doom who everyone thought was dead comes back to destroy earth (he’s looking fresh too because he found a sweet robe designed by Kanye somewhere during the year he was stranded on a barren planet). Blah, Blah, Blah, garbage, garbage, garbage: they kick his ass in the last ten minutes.
In the old days of Hollywood the common practice when directors made a movie they were ashamed of would be to say it was directed by Alan Smithee. That way you aren’t forever associated with a piece of shit. Josh Trank, you fucked up, you should have said Fantastic Four was directed by Alan Smithee, but now it’s too late, we all know it was you, and like a registered sex offender that shit will follow you around forever.