TriStar Pictures/Courtesy

The last time we saw Neill Blomkamp, he was fresh off the success of “District 9,” the 2009 summer sleeper hit that combined slick visuals and action with biting social commentary. Four years ago seems like an awfully long time.

“Elysium” is a good movie the same way “Twilight” is a classic novel — which is to say it’s not.

Set in 2154, the future of humanity is grim. Well, grim is relative; if you’re one of the unlucky proles stuck on Earth, then you live in a desertlike world that looks like a mixture of East Jerusalem and set pieces from “Mad Max.” If you’re of the wealthy upper crust, then you live on Elysium — a biosphere qua space station whose immigration czar and defense secretary is played by an unusually dull Jodie Foster.

There is no subtlety in either “Elysium” — the fictional space palace nor the film writ large. In the movie, “undocumented ships” routinely try to break through the atmosphere and drop off their cargo. I say “cargo” here because there are no actual people in Elysium or on Earth. Instead, we have sacks of flesh that traverse the screen, brandishing tricked-out weapons and spaceships that compete for our attention with the oh-so-awful plot.

Our story begins before 2154, when a young Max (Matt Damon) and Frey (Alice Braga) hold hands and attend Catholic school in the ruins of Los Angeles. Max promises to take Frey to Elysium one day, and the rest of the movie is spent unpacking the consequences of this promise. Reinserted decades later, Max is a reformed car thief looking to move up at his assembly-line job, and Frey is a nurse. Max is in an accident and needs to go to Elysium for a cure, and Frey gets roped in with the allure of healing her daughter, who is sick with leukemia.

Yes there are all the annoyingly obvious class-war, Occupy-style plot devices. And yes, it is possible that you went into the wrong theater and have sat down and begun watching the most recent Michael Bay “Transformers” installment. But at its core, and despite its best efforts to distract from those tangential details with poor plotting and marvelous special effects, Elysium is really just another distinctly Hollywood take on post-apocalyptic Earth.

For instance, on Elysium, there are MRI-like beds that you can climb onto that will heal all of your ailments in about 30 seconds. To use them, you’ll need a handy-dandy citizenship stamp, which people who have never been to Elysium apparently know how to forge on Earth, but never mind that minor detail. What’s really irritating here is that somehow, a planet that was able to cure all diseases with a futuristic Sealy also let itself slide into ruinous inequality and war. OK.

I’d ordinarily let a small thing like that slip by (it’s sci-fi, duh), except the movie is filled with them. The upper classes on Elysium interchangeably speak French and English, as if the former is uniquely a language of sophistication and the Spanish-English spoken down below is the real language of the people. Moving past the medical technology issues, it also appears that reducing entire languages to crude cultural stereotypes (French fancy, Spanish gritty, English common, etc.) is a sufficient way to illustrate differences between the lives lived below and up top.

And so on.

“Elysium” was made for $100 million, money surely thrown at Blomkamp after the success of “District 9,” which made him the toast of the film world. And although I’m not pleased to say this, “Elysium” is hardly a follow-up worth watching for a filmmaker with the potential of Blomkamp.

Contact Noah Kulwin at nkulwin@dailycal.org.

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Rolling Stone/Courtesy

It’s been too long, my fellow Hanksians. I’ve been remiss, nay, neglectful in my lack of Tom Hanks updates. I thought, mistakenly, that this man did not require frequent updates, that there was simply not enough news about the star of my favorite detective/dog flick (“Turner and Hooch”). Well, I was wrong and I apologize. Tom Hanks is always relevant, always newsworthy, and like Hurricane Sandy, a force of nature that must be covered 24/7. I came to this realization when I saw Mr. Hanks in a state I had never seen him in before. In the past, I’ve noted (in pictorial detail) how versatile Tom Hanks can be. He can go from romantic to tragic in the blink of one of his beautiful, beautiful green eyes. But, Tom Hanks has always bordered on the side of avuncular cool. You know, that kind of cool an older brother exudes when he takes you to a carnival, loses you, and then you find a old fortune-telling machine that turns you into an adult. That kind of cool.

Clearly, I’m not an expert on cool. But, I know it when I see it and this week, Tom Hanks is on fire. In promotion of his new film “Cloud Atlas,” he made the talk show circuit as an actor is wont to do. But, this is Tom Hanks. He never does anything half-ass. No siree. He went on Jimmy Fallon, wore a black turtleneck, and slammed the shit out of a poem about “Full House.”

But, was conquering NBC with his suave syncopation enough for Sir Hanks? No fucking way. On to the King of cable satire, Stephen Colbert where Hanks treated the audience to not only his sweet sense of humor, but to a candy-coated cameo by Matt Damon (my dog’s unofficial name).

Now, this week, he graces the feature pages of “Rolling Stone” where he easily sheds that demure, grandmother-friendly exterior of yesteryear (e.g. this 1988 cover) for what he really is: Super Fucking Awesome. Vulgarity necessary. Hanks says that word like a pro:

So, why now? Why all of a sudden, at the age of 56, can Tom Hanks be deemed God of all that is glorious. As a Hanks scholar, I can point to the answer. Tom Hanks is defined by the first letter of his last name. His two best qualities come from that letter: humor and hair. Hanks has always been funny and his hair has changed dramatically, but his facial hair? Recently, Hanks has embraced the look of the elderly statesman with a fine line of upper mouth bristle and in “Cloud Atlas,” he rocks not one, not two, but four beards — all amazing. Maybe Mitt Romney should look to Hanks for how to increase youth appeal. Let it be known: the mustache makes the difference.

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Universal Pictures/Courtesy

If a man fights off a hungry wolf with his bare hands in a movie, is there any possible way that movie could be boring? Before this, I would have voiced a strong “Hell no!,” but today I am a changed person. I have seen “The Bourne Legacy” and have consequently lost all faith in badassery.

The fourth film in the Jason Bourne franchise stars Jeremy Renner as Aaron Cross, a genetically-enhanced agent running for his life as a secret government agency seeks to destroy him. The storyline in this film, directed by Tony Gilroy, is incredibly confusing and makes almost no sense unless you happen to remember every single detail from the first three films. From what I can gather, Matt Damon, who does not appear in this film, goes rogue in “The Bourne Ultimatum” (2007) and causes enough trouble to make Eric Byer (Edward Norton), director of the National Research Assay Group, decide to shut down all programs involving behaviorally- and intellectually-enhanced soldiers. The targeted Outcome agents are all hooked on green pills to make them faster and stronger and blue pills to make them smarter. Most of them are wiped out when the blues and greens are swapped for the poisonous yellows, but not Cross! He is out in Alaska on a solo training mission, beating up wolves and shooting down drones.

Once Cross discovers what is happening with the pills, he saves and kidnaps scientist Dr. Marta Shearing (Rachel Weisz) and takes her to a top secret lab in Manila where she can cook him up something to end his dependency on the blue pills. The physical effects of the green pills have already become permanent, but a lack of blue pills could cause Cross to lose his mind. Luckily, Dr. Shearing uses science to save the day and secure her spot as leading lady! Once recovered, Cross has fisticuffs in a cramped alleyway, parkours across some rooftops, and has a sweaty flashback that explains how he became an Outcome agent.

Meanwhile, Director Byer is still trying to track down and kill Cross and anyone else connected to his super spy programs. It’s time to call in Larx, a secret agent neurologically programmed to be void of any emotion.  The whole point is to get rid of all these spies, but alright, Byer, go ahead and send in Larx because at this point the plotline is so muddled that all coherency is already lost.  What follows is an adrenaline pumping car/motorcycle chase through the cramped streets of Manila. Larx catapults into a fruit stand only to get back on his bike, of which he is then kicked off by Dr. Shearing, earning him the prestigious title of Lamest Baddie Ever.

Even with high intensity fights and car crashes, the latest installment in the Bourne series fails miserably to engage. Dialogue accounts for the majority of the film’s running time, and most of it does not make any sense. Byer’s reasons for shutting down the special programs remain incredibly unclear and the loose ends in the beginning of the film are never tied together, creating a frustrating and unfulfilling viewing experience.  Ultimately, there is just too much talk and not enough action. Shots of Renner scaling buildings and delivering punches provide the only excitement in the film but are lost among scene after scene of men in suits arguing in government offices.

Matt Damon’s character, Jason Bourne, is briefly mentioned several times but without much explanation. This film has very little to do with its predecessors besides the title and any continuity between “Legacy” and the other films feels forced.  It seems as though the studio was so intent on milking the cash cow that is the Bourne franchise that they settled for vague tie-ins just to keep “Bourne” in the title.

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