The Avengers

The slogan they're running with the ads for The Avengers is "Saving the world...in style." Well, style is one thing this movie's got. Sadly, it hasn't really got much else. It's slick, it's cool, and it's just ever so arch. But once you get past the 90s-interpretation-of-the-60s'-interpretation-of-the-future postmodern/retro chic, there's just nothing there.

I will admit that I am not a fan of the TV series, so it could be possible that the whole thing is a joke I'm just not getting. Be that as it may, I found the slight and insubstantial "plot" ill-explained, the characterization superficial and tired, and the performances the opposite of engaging. As the bowler-hatted, brolly-toting, tea-sipping John Steed, Ralph Fiennes is presumably trying to project an air of reserve and cool detachment, which is then deliciously counterbalanced by his ass-kicking secret-agent capabilities; but instead of looking ironic and reserved, he spends a lot of the film just sort of looking tranquilized. Meanwhile Emma Peel, as incarnated by Uma Thurman, is certainly interesting to look at, but she's never compelling. There are ample opportunities for anyone who has ever wondered if Uma's legs really do go all the way up to set his mind at rest, especially since Mrs. Peel has been given a catsuit-wearing doppelganger who may be Emma on a bad day, or may be some diabolically created body double. But when these two undeniably good-looking people are on screen swapping their double-entendres and raising their eyebrows, it just isn't very interesting. Partly, I think, it's because the quality of the banter is surprisingly low; partly it's because the producers' desire to create sexual tension is so mindnumbingly obvious that the double-entendres are single-entendres.

For instance, in a scene included in the previews, Emma walks in on Steed sitting in a steam bath, buck naked except for a towel; she says, "Please, don't get up;" he says, "Oh, don't worry; I was just about to throw in the towel." It never gets much more subtle than that. Lines that would be the occasion for gleeful snickering if they appeared, say, in an episode of DS9, here don't even elicit a groan; for instance, by the time Sean Connery's character, the villainous Sir August DeWynter, tells Emma that "one should never be afraid to get wet," it's already pretty obvious that he's in the throes of drooling, slobbering, cerebellum-melting lust, and there really is no other way to take that comment. They work so hard at making everything charged that in fact it all just falls flat.

That, basically, is this movie's problem: it's not as clever as it wants to be. For instance, the bad guy is obsessed with meteorology, and is planning to take over the world by controlling the weather. Well, I can see the writing team congratulating themselves on their finely tuned sense of irony: take the subject that is always considered the quintessence of boredom and make it the basis for an action thriller. Countless jokes embedded in the film along the lines of "well then, let's talk about the weather" point out this irony for our amusement, but that can't help the fact that a guy trying to snow London to death is just really not that scary. Similarly, they appear to be very concerned with getting it across to us that these characters, being British, are more interested in having their tea than saving/destroying the world; but the joke, which didn't really work that well the first time, flags considerably on a fifth rehearsal. And thanks to Connery Sir August, who was probably supposed to be divinely over the top, is neither sinister nor fabulous, but instead just plain creepy.

At one point, when Liza was confused about which Emma Peel was on screen, I said, "The bad one is the one who looks like Catwoman." Actually, she also looks a lot like the INtendant, so some of you may want to see this film anyway just to drool and sigh. But tightly encased as Uma is, she just doesn't fascinate the way she oughta. When she and Steed are drawn inevitably into the vortex of romantic involvement, it doesn't seem to matter; it was telegraphed so early on that by the time it happens your reaction is, "Yeah, we know, get on with it." Also telegraphed is the "treachery within the Ministry" subplot, which is so structured as to provide the absolute minimum amount of suspense possible. So, no suspense, no tense in the sexual tension, characters you can't identify with, and random moments at which you can see the director holding up a big cue card that says "AND NOW FOR A MOMENT OF HOMAGE TO THE SERIES." It all adds up to a fairly disappointing moviegoing experience. If you really get a charge out of catsuits and funky futuristic sets, it's a pleasant afternoon's viewing; but don't pay more than matinee price, under any circumstances. You don't need Mrs. Peel that bad.

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