Though it may no longer be much of a rebellious stance, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the Mission: Impossible series over the years. We’ve gotten a blend of old-school spy thrillers and modern actioners, of John le Carré, Ian Fleming, and Shane Black. Even better, the series has been home to number of different styles, thanks to the revolving door of directors: from Brian de Palma’s twisty espionage tale to John Woo’s slightly-bloated spectacle to J.J. Abrams’s more grounded thrill-ride to Brad Bird’s stunt extravaganza to Christopher McQuarrie’s melange of the bunch. Though the stories may be unexpected and laden with double-crosses and plot somersaults, some things remain constant, especially the star power of Tom Cruise (and Ving Rhames, in fairness) and the centrality of jaws-widening stunt work. This is the series I point to, rather than The Fast and the Furious, if for no other reason than I was never able to ever actually get behind that franchise, whereas this one hooked me from the start.
True story: Back in the later part of the mid-90s, I got into something of a spy kick. I was young, pretty shallow in my understanding of the whole HUMINT schtick, but I was spurred on by The Saint and Mission: Impossible. Sure, the films are needlessly pretzel-y and the former’s got some major flaws, but the life of a super-spy was just so damned enticing! I made badges for my friend and myself, I planned on buying hollow coins and such for the obvious bevvy of secret messages I had to send, and I would routinely patrol the neighborhood for nothing in particular. ‘Twas a wild time.
Anyway.
The newest entry in the Mission: Impossible series, Fallout, follows its previous entry pretty directly, the first true, continuity-following sequel of the bunch (sure a bunch of plot threads and characters technically carry over through the others, but this is the first time the story of one film flows nearly immediately into the next; think the Bond films before and after the Craig reboot). Ethan Hunt and his crew are after some plutonium, which the Syndicate wants to use for their nefarious deeds. A new run-in with Solomon Lane, though, complicates matters, as does CIA tag-along August Walker.
From the get-go, we’re presented with the same combination of classic films and stories (bordering on the pulps and serials, frankly) and contemporary bombast, but this blend doesn’t stay consistently grand. McQuarrie’s return to the director’s chair is welcome, as he has an eye for how to stage action sequences and interrogations alike, but his script leaves quite a bit to be desired. It tends to favor the old-school dialogue, with plenty of cheese and chintz to go along with some relieving humor, technobabble, and exposition. Along with some sight gags, there are too many lines that are too melodramatic and/or corny to be either effective or convincingly delivered with a straight face (or at least received with one). This dialogue had me rolling my eyes at several instances, wondering if the film was meant to be an overt homage to 40s thrillers like Saboteur and Foreign Correspondent, just with some steroidal action to keep the modern attention.
But it’s that action that allowed me to forgive (mostly) the dialogue. As per usual, the set pieces and stunt work therein is fantastic, and McQuarrie and editor Eddie Hamilton (you may remember his work from the Kingsman films and X-Men: First Class) keep the action grounded in view, steady, comprehensible, and clear. This is all aided by the cinematography of Rob Hardy (of Ex Machina, Annihilation, and Euphoria fame), whose able lenses not only lovingly capture the stunts, but also provide some sweeping views of Asiatic mountains and European architecture (his sweeps through Paris are downright stunning, kids). This isn’t Paul Greengrass’s Bourne work, but rather the American inheritance of the Hong Kong masters. It helps that Cruise is seemingly more than willing to ridiculously endanger himself for the sake of the shot, too.
Speaking of which, Cruise remains the linchpin of the operation, still running about and somehow believably thrusting himself into all sorts of crazy physical shenanigans. Though he’s still going strong, there are points here, much like in the second entry in the series, that directly massage his ego. Time and again, we’re regaled with the greatness of Ethan Hunt and how he’s great and how he can climb mountains and is an unstoppable machine and so forth. It’s nothing too great, but it’s evident, likely a symptom of Cruise’s producerial credit and his fear of waning youth, though these are mere speculation on my part. It’s a welcome sight to see Simon Pegg a bit more active in the plot, and he and the returning Rebecca Ferguson acquit themselves rather well in the narrative. Sean Harris is a touch overwrought as Solomon Lane, though that’s more of a problem with the script than anything (it’s hard to make that grand spiel he does from the trailers sound, y’know, natural or whatnot), and Harry Cavill is slightly wasted, as per usual, as Walker, relegated to a stiff tough guy without much of the charm I know he can bring to the table (see The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and The Tudors for proof). Overall, though, the acting works, just shackled a touch by the script’s flinch-inducing tendencies.
And that’s pretty much how I would sum up the film as a whole. Ir’s another great actioner worthy of the franchise, but the screenplay lets it down in parts. Luckily, these weak points are nowhere near debilitating, just kinda distracting. There’s plenty of fun to be had for, to be sure, and it makes me wonder where the series can even go in the coming years, a quality problem to have, if’n ya ask me. Cheers, kids.
Allusions of Grandeur 