Back when it was still festering away in development Hell, the future flop Jonah Hex was to be written and directed by the goofy video game geek filmmaking duo of Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor (who use the slick, tricked out "Neveldine/Taylor" as a professional label). With a style that can be best described as the cinematic equivalent of a psychedelic washing machine's spin cycle, the pair are perhaps best known for guiding the giddy, pixie stick spectacle of the Crank franchise. Now, they get another chance at comic book glory, bringing that acting agent provocateur Nicolas Cage back for another installment of the equally odd Ghost Rider series. Unfortunately, they are saddled with a script that does neither their electrified insanity approach - nor the character - any favors.
Johnny Blaze (Cage) is still possessed by a demon that turns him into a fire-headed skeleton whenever evil rears its ugly head. Hiding out in Eastern Europe, he suddenly finds himself summoned by old friend/alcoholic priest Moreau (Idris Elba). Seems Satan (Ciaran Hinds) is up to his old tricks again. He made a deal with a gypsy girl (Violante Placido) for her unborn son (Fergus Riordan) and now that the boy is entering his teens, Scratch has come to collect. Seems the child will become the Antichrist, and it's up to Blaze and his buddy to stop him. The only problem? The Devil has an arms dealer turned supernatural henchman (Johnny Whitworth) working for him, and this guy's got the power to make things decay. As everyone waits for the winter solstice and the ritual that will bring Hell to Earth, Blaze must resolve his identity issues and take on malevolence once again.
When they are on fire, when they've forgotten to take their meds and let their ADD addled creativity come out of its bunker and go bugnuts, Neveldine/Taylor are sensational schlock savants. Just watch any sequence from Crank: High Voltage and try to argue for their artistic irrelevancy. When in complete control, their aesthetic is like a car battery hooked up to your ID. It's over the top and hyperactive, but it also shows what invention and imagination can do to even the most mediocre idea. The same cannot be said for Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance. Since they did not have any say in the script (it was written by the talentless trio of Scott Gimple, Seth Hoffman, and David S. Goyer), the guys are stuck with something that instantly chafes against what they do as directors. The result is like watching a wild animal, desperate to break free and cause mayhem, that can't escape its cage of convention.
At the very least they let Nic be Nic. As he's done throughout his entire post-Oscar career, Francis Ford's family shame chews more scenery than a pack of hungry termites. When he's not endlessly mugging in an attempt to hinder his transformation into "The Rider," he's working his chops through cheese ball dialogue like a hot knife through festering lard. Even with talents like Elba, Hinds, and Whitworth in the cast, there's very little characterization and even less to care about. We are never invested in the need to prevent the Apocalypse. We just want to see Neveldine/Taylor unleashed.
Unfortunately, because it is hemmed in by a screenplay that wants to play everything with a certain level of four panel seriousness, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance sags...and when was the last time you heard anyone say that about the duo's Jason Statham starring epics. In a world filled with slack superheroes, this one had a chance to be uber cool. Instead, he winds up being woefully underwhelming.
When they are on fire, when they've forgotten to take their meds and let their ADD addled creativity come out of its bunker and go bugnuts, Neveldine/Taylor are sensational schlock savants. Just watch any sequence from Crank: High Voltage and try to argue for their artistic irrelevancy. When in complete control, their aesthetic is like a car battery hooked up to your ID. It's over the top and hyperactive, but it also shows what invention and imagination can do to even the most mediocre idea. The same cannot be said for Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance. Since they did not have any say in the script (it was written by the talentless trio of Scott Gimple, Seth Hoffman, and David S. Goyer), the guys are stuck with something that instantly chafes against what they do as directors. The result is like watching a wild animal, desperate to break free and cause mayhem, that can't escape its cage of convention.
At the very least they let Nic be Nic. As he's done throughout his entire post-Oscar career, Francis Ford's family shame chews more scenery than a pack of hungry termites. When he's not endlessly mugging in an attempt to hinder his transformation into "The Rider," he's working his chops through cheese ball dialogue like a hot knife through festering lard. Even with talents like Elba, Hinds, and Whitworth in the cast, there's very little characterization and even less to care about. We are never invested in the need to prevent the Apocalypse. We just want to see Neveldine/Taylor unleashed.
Unfortunately, because it is hemmed in by a screenplay that wants to play everything with a certain level of four panel seriousness, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance sags...and when was the last time you heard anyone say that about the duo's Jason Statham starring epics. In a world filled with slack superheroes, this one had a chance to be uber cool. Instead, he winds up being woefully underwhelming.
