Director Simon Wincer adopts a Boys' Own atmosphere for his tale, complete with jungle hideouts, loyal pet wolves, and evil masterminds plotting to rule the world. The mixture includes a fair helping of corn, and those who like their adventure dark will doubtless find it too silly for words. But that silliness comes with such a twinkle in the eye -- such a knowing sense of fun and excitement -- that none but the most heartless viewer would dare condemn it. The buoyancy also grants it a sense of distinction which separates it from flashier and better-known rivals.
The particulars owe far more to Indiana Jones than Clark Kent. The titular hero dwells in the jungles of Africa, which doesn't stop him from riding forth in purple spandex to bash evildoers the world over. Blessed with a secret fortune, along with a hideout in the shape of a skull, he stems from a long line of previous Phantoms which grant him the sheen of immortality. The Phantom is played by Billy Zane, who perfectly encapsulates the mixture of square-jawed decency and knowing self-satire on which the project thrives. In the depths of the Great Depression, he has no shortage of ne'er-do-wells to confront -- topped by maniacal New York businessman Xander Drax (Treat Williams) -- and a trio of mystic skulls to secure which could destroy the world if they fall into the wrong hands.
The entire endeavor depends on the right energy: a sense of excitement unbound by cynicism and an imaginative approach to the action scenes which transcend the rather dated special effects. While Wincer lacks the auteurial distinction of a Christopher Nolan or a Sam Raimi, his wholesale devotion to the project prevents his hero from feeling compromised. This Phantom is resolutely a '30s man: tough enough to hang on to the side of a plane for thousands of miles, but never too busy to return a lady's fallen purse. He carries a pair of .45 automatics -- complete with skull-embroidered holsters, natch -- but takes care only to shoot weapons out of people's hands, and you can imagine him lecturing kids about eating their vegetables at the end of each excursion.
That old-fashioned sensibility applies to the set pieces as well. In our CGI-soaked era, the sight of an actual stunt man actually leaping from moving car to moving car holds a special kind of thrill. So too does The Phantom's good-vs.-evil storyline stay simple but true, eschewing complex plot arcs and long term ambitions in favor of straightforward Saturday matinee thrills. Snarky questions pop up every two minutes or so -- like why the hell someone would wear purple spandex in the jungle -- but the film disarms them so completely that you find yourself grinning even as you voice them.
It doesn't do much more than provide reliable entertainment, but neither does it have to. As popcorn fun, The Phantom holds its own against more than a few contemporary franchises, and its brightly lit scenery stays loyal to the original comics created by Lee Falk. In some ways, it remains a resolute anachronism, but that's not such a bad thing. Our grim avengers of the 21st century could use some reminding that it's okay to smile once in awhile
and that 'fun' should be more than just an afterthought when stories of this ilk are told.
