Fountain of Youth

Jun 25

The cinematic output of Guy Ritchie is as unpredictable as which way the wind will blow. After getting a reset after the box office and critical disaster that is both Revolver and Swept Away, only to return with the largely underrated small gangster flick Rock ‘N’ Rolla and franchise starting Sherlock Holmes a year after each other in 2008 and 2009 proved that regardless of the spectacle, director Guy Ritchie could and can do them both. Such a sentiment and output has been well-travelled with Ritchie continuing this trend of the smaller film followed by the spectacle, be it The Gentlemen and Aladdin, Wrath of Man and Operation Fortune, The Covenant and now Fountain of Youth. Granted, the track record has a few dips and rises, but regardless, a strong and steady pulse is felt throughout this growing filmography.

In regards to dips and rides, Fountain of Youth wholeheartedly falls into the camp of the former. Very little is found here in terms of Ritchie’s operandi in more basic terms, being entertainment value. This is best described as a third or fourth film in an already run out of steam franchise. It fails to elicit a modicum of fun or intrigue, and for a feature by its very definition is a mystery that relies on the very notion of intrigue to absorb and curate audiences for entertainment value; this is far off the mark. First and foremost, the narrative is both tired and glaringly obvious in its predictability and outcome. In the context of tiresome, the central plot of looking for the mystical object that is the “Fountain of Youth” holds no intrigue. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides carried this narrative almost fifteen years ago to a somewhat drawn-out, albeit fully explored outcome. That specific property was able to maximise the mysteriousness while playing around in a time period and setting that crafted visual and heightened spectacle. Fountain of Youth tries to carry this narrative in the sentiment of being a Daniel Craig era Bond film, and the two tones could not be more antagonistic against one another. The seriousness and bravado that Ritchie’s film brings simply do not match the silliness of the situation. It’s far too serious for its own good, and that is with the acknowledged use of humour and comedic endeavour from its characters about the narrative and world they are in, thrown in for good measure.

Its all eerily similar to 2017’s The Mummy in which creative forces try to mold stories of the past with modern contemporary settings and twists of war-torn Syria, much like the Vatican and Interpool are used here as real-world interventions which is used to give weight and believability to the narrative but every ten minutes the audience is reminded of the silly, ludicrous object and journey these characters are seeking and undertaking. Then comes into question the plot itself. It’s all far too on the nose and predictable to hold weight and emotive immersion in just how simple and clear the eventual outcomes are, and frustratingly proceed to be. Character arcs and thus narrative are both unable to hold interest or immersion, with just how drab and simplistic they are. Made worse is the sheer lack of chemistry and charm between Portman and Krasinski, who are “alleged” to be on-screen siblings, but said relationship and dynamic are written in such a manner that it fails to evoke any form of believable or genuine connection. The two are written over and over in the same sequences of Portman doubting Krasinski in his decision making amid death, who, in turn, acts either numb or dumb, only for the latter to miraculously have a plan. Rinse and repeat from the opening ten minutes to the last for her to finally trust him in a moment of ultimate power. It is egregiously bland and uninteresting to witness. Krasinski also has the added texture of a potential rival love interest with Eiza Gonzales, of which Hollywood has repeatedly tried to make a star after a multitude of potential franchises or Blockbusters with Baby Driver, Godzilla vs Kong, Alita: Battle Angel, Hobbs and Shaw, Bloodshot and now this. The result here? Another entry into the dwindling series of false starts. It’s all just too one-note and uninspiring, which ultimately echoes largely and loudly within the film itself.

The strongest word to describe Ritchie’s Fountain of Youth is sadly bland. The aforementioned characters and narrative are one thing, but equally as flat and dire are the visuals and set pieces. The visuals utilised here do so little to elevate and inspire the writing or the situations the characters find themselves in. One sequence ripped straight out of Airport 77 arguably holds the crown in spectacle, but in a feature that wants very dearly to echo the likes of cinematic echoes, Indiana Jones or video games such as Uncharted or Tomb Raider, Fountain of Youth flounders in both originality and entertainment. Such a lack of visual, aesthetic and narrative style can be found with this frustrating two-hour running time. Everything looks, sounds and feels alarmingly mundane, often bleeding from one scene to another without flow or the needed investment in wanting to explore this world or engage with the characters present, with both these fronts failing to inhabit either personality and intrigue. Two elements that ultimately come to define Guy Ritchie’s misfire are that the film itself thinks it inhabits heaps of charisma and immersion, but in reality does the opposite, pushing away and being rejected as being far too banal and opaque to stand out as its own thing. Especially in a world of such a saturated market as the adventure genre, which is inundated with a ferocious amount of spectacles and fun for the entire family to sit around either at home or, more importantly,y out at the theatre, Fountain of Youth is best to be ignored and like its titular tresire: to be forgotten about and left to have never found again.