MARTIAL MAYHEM MARCHES ON

MOVIE
Mortal Kombat II
Director Simon McQuoid
Review Ray Chan

Nobody  is turning up to a movie called Mortal Kombat II hoping for restrained character studies and tasteful emotional subtlety. 
   They’re here to watch impossibly-good-looking or grotesque gnarly-faced characters punch each other through walls, tear spines out with varying degrees of theatrical flourish, and exchange one-liners that sound like they were forged in a 1993 gaming cabinet. On that level, the film delivers a flawless victory.
   Structurally, it is very much more of the same as the 2021 movie, and the game upon which it is based — Earthrealm versus Outworld, grim prophecies, escalating tournaments, and enough slow-motion grimacing to power a small hydroelectric dam. 
   But the producer/director team of Perth boys Simon McQuoid and James Wan are fully aware that the plot is mostly connective tissue between acts of gleeful dismemberment. The audience — most of whom would have known the game and characters intimately — came for imaginative gore, and the film serves it up with the enthusiasm of a chef unveiling a degustation menu made entirely of severed limbs.
   Like the first instalment, the movie leans hard into playful genre riffing, with several sequences being obvious affectionate nods to the 1986 classic Big Trouble in Little China — especially whenever mystical alleyways, ancient sorcerers in wide conical hats, and bewildered wisecracking Americans collide in gloriously neon-lit chaos. 
   There are also unmistakable visual winks toward the TV show Squid Game, as certain tournament arenas resemble death tournaments staged by someone who clearly has a Pinterest board labelled “Murder, But Make It Fashion”. 
   Rather than feeling lazy, these cultural references become part of the film’s charm: Mortal Kombat II knows it exists in the same gaming-pop soup as every cult action movie and streaming phenomenon of the last 40 years, and it enjoys tossing in cheeky little acknowledgements.
   The Easter eggs come flying almost as quickly as the body parts. Longtime fans will spot familiar game moves, classic sound effects, arena callbacks, hidden character cameos, and even sly references to the original games and 1995 film adaptations. Several scenes recreate signature attacks almost frame-for-frame, while background details reward anyone who spent their childhood pumping coins into an arcade machine instead of developing social skills. 
   Karl Urban’s Johnny Cage swaggers into the franchise like he was genetically engineered in a laboratory devoted entirely to smug B-movie charisma, but fellow Amtipodean Josh Lawson once again steals scenes as Kano — largely because the Australian ruffian treats every life-or-death situation like he’s midway through his fourth beer at a suburban barbecue. 
   His resurrection is absurd, completely unnecessary, but absolutely the correct decision. Even the writers have admitted they simply couldn’t resist bringing him back because he was too entertaining to lose. 
   In fairness, this is Mortal Kombat lore: death is less a permanent condition and more a temporary scheduling inconvenience.
   But this creates one lingering problem for future sequels. Once a necromancer like Quan Chi can simply wave his hands and revive fan favourites whenever the script requires another crowd-pleasing entrance, the stakes start feeling delightfully flimsy. 
   Characters can now die in sprays of arterial fireworks, only to wander back into the next movie looking mildly inconvenienced. It is tremendous fun for now, but there is a risk the franchise eventually turns into supernatural Whac-a-Mole, where no fatality is truly fatal anymore.

#universal #mortalkombatII

GIVE THE DEVIL ITS DUES

 

Movie
The Devil Wears Prada 2
Director David Frankel
Review Ray Chan

Somewhere between a Paris Runway and a corporate boardroom apocalypse, The Devil Wears Prada finally receives its anticipated sequel — and like a pair of stilettos found at the back of a closet, it somehow still fits.
   The Devil Wears Prada 2 reunites the icy volcanic force of Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly, who now prowls the media landscape like a silk-swathed velociraptor trying to outrun the masses. Anne Hathaway returns as Andy Sachs, no longer the bewildered assistant in chunky sweaters, but a polished media executive whose calm competence hides the same existential panic simmering beneath her bangs 20 years ago.
   Emily Blunt also storms back into the film with sharpened cheekbones and enough deadpan venom to qualify as chemical warfare, her namesake ascending from abused assistant to terrifying luxury conglomerate titan. Meanwhile, Stanley Tucci returns as Nigel, still dispensing emotional support and scarves in equal measure, gliding through the film like the patron saint of exhausted creative directors.
   This time, Miranda fights to preserve the relevance of her Runway magazine in a world dominated by influencers, AI branding consultants, and 20-somethings reviewing couture from their bedrooms.  Most women’s glossy publications have all closed or gone digital-only. As she grimly puts it, “the September issue’s already so thin you could floss with it”. 
   Then things get complicated after publisher Irv Ravitz dies, leaving the future of Runway in the hands of his son: a Silicon Valley-coded doofus who dreams of replacing editors and models with AI. 
   Andy, naturally, becomes tangled between loyalty, ambition, and the horrifying possibility that she may actually be turning into Miranda. Again.
   The film stuffs itself with cameos like a designer handbag packed for Milan Fashion Week. There are appearances by celebrities from in and outside the fashion world, including Lady Gaga, Donatella Versace, Domenico Dolce, Stefano Gabbana, and supermodels Naomi Campbell and Heidi Klum.
   And yet — despite all the glamour, all the couture trench coats, all the exquisitely tailored insults — it doesn’t quite hit the heights of the original and its superficial sarcasm.
   The first movie succeeded because of its sharpness, a sadness, and a perfectly balanced cruelty beneath its glossy surface. The follow-up is grander, more self-aware, and occasionally very funny, but it lacks the original film’s delicious surprise.
   But maybe it’s because the novelty factor is lost. Back in 2006, nobody expected a movie about handbags and magazine deadlines to become a modern workplace myth. Now the second part arrives already wearing its own legacy like an expensive coat — beautiful, tailored, and just a little heavy.
   Still, spending two more hours in Miranda Priestly’s orbit remains deeply entertaining, and a twist ending wraps up the story satisfactorily. Florals for spring may not be groundbreaking, but watching Miranda reduce a tech billionaire to ash with a single glance certainly is.

 #devilwearsprada2