Tron — the 1982 tale of a computer programmer (Jeff Bridges, True Grit) zapped into a world of anthropomorphized data programs — is not a classic. The writing is basic; the direction, adequate; the plot, silly; the acting, coasting on charm alone, which, in the case of Bridges, is fairly substantial.

Yet little of that matters, because its unabashed special-effects joy leaps from the screen. Like Star Wars, 2001 and King Kong, Tron — with its revolutionary CGI — was an FX leap that held you to your seat with a huge grin on your face. This was benchmark, even if the rest of the film was flat as warm cola.

There was little chance that, three decades later, Tron: Legacy (plot: Bridges’ son explores the computer world to find his long-missing father) would even touch Tron’s pop-cultural importance. And despite light-years of difference between the two — more distinctive direction by Joseph Kosinski (Oblivion), impressive visuals, slightly more interesting characters — Legacy fails its birthright.

Tron was a lighthearted adventure; Legacy succumbs to the Dark Knight-ization of modern reboots. Gee-whiz fun is replaced with a soul-destroying pixelscape of bleakness, the effects stunning yet in service to nothing. The original character of Tron (Bruce Boxleitner, TV’s Babylon 5) is barely even present, shoehorned in at the end to play deus ex machina and allow the scriptwriters a way out.

Weirdly enough, the real pleasures in this special-effects showcase are the actors. Nominal star Garrett Hedlund (Eragon) brings limited range to a limited role. However, Bridges’ now-iconic/laconic Zen-master shtick is a desperately welcome pleasure. Olivia Wilde (Cowboys & Aliens) uses her exotically outsized features to pleasing effect as Bridges’ companion, and Michael Sheen (Underworld) goes full “campy Joel Grey in Cabaret” with his too-brief, entertainingly broad portrayal of a conniving program with wires in every port.

It’s not enough, not when there are tens of effects for every line of dialogue. Tron, for all its weaknesses, had a soul within its electrical universe; Legacy can’t find it.

Speaking of soullessness: Bridges also portrays Legacy’s villain, Clu, a program that looks as Bridges once did, his now-aged visage replaced with a youthful one. When the face isn’t moving, it’s an impressive feat of effects work. But when it talks? Unnervingly off. It may seem odd to complain about computerized artificiality in Tron, but Bridges’ uncanny valley visit will haunt my nightmares. —Corey Redekop

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You’re a movie executive who’s just watched a double feature of Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, and inspiration strikes. These movies are great, no question, but you know what they need? Laughs! You set up a meeting and pitch the filmmakers on a third Batman film, only this time, the main villain will be portrayed by Adam Sandler in full Waterboy mode.

Thus, Superman III, a sequel overloaded with pratfalls, double takes, broad acting, pathetic plot contrivances and the ruinous casting of comedian Richard Pryor (Silver Streak) as a computer genius led awry into cartoon villainy. It’s genuinely mind-boggling that producers would take a beloved and financially successful cultural icon and treat it like garbage. Then again, look at 1997’s Batman & Robin. Better yet, don’t.

With the right material, Pryor was a comedy genius, but in a movie laden with miscalculations — replacing Richard Donner’s stewardship of Superman: The Movie and Superman II with the unsuitable campiness of Richard Lester (Help!); treating Lois Lane (Margot Kidder) like an afterthought; believing that computers can do anything, because science — the stand-up legend’s painful flailing about is by far the most atrocious. He seems to be acting in an entirely different film, and not a good one.

Christopher Reeve, the ideal Superman/Clark Kent combo, heroically survives scenes that would cripple a more cynical actor. Reeve’s main strength was an ability to project decency, and this alone allows him to escape the debacle relatively unscathed. He even adds a dash of surly menace when a piece of faulty kryptonite turns Superman evil — well, more dickish, really; a prick with a 5 o’clock shadow. It’s still campy, but Reeve makes it work, even when he goes all Fight Club and battles himself in a junkyard. It makes no logical sense, but it’s by far the most interesting scene.

The rest, sadly, crumbles away as Pryor and co-antagonist Robert Vaughn (The Magnificent Seven) compete to see who can debase himself more. And at the end, after causing untold danger to life and property, Superman releases Pryor because hey, mistakes are why pencils have erasers. Also, Lester hates you.

Side query: While his job is integral to the mythos, have we ever seen Clark Kent actually perform “journalism”? His big story here is writing a piece on his high school reunion, leading me to believe Clark is less a star reporter and more The Daily Planet’s advice columnist. —Corey Redekop

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I’m not sure why I yearned for a Johnny Mnemonic re-watch to reveal a misdiagnosed classic, but I did have hopes. After all, many of my favorites began with a first-viewing sneer of contempt: Prince of Darkness, Lifeforce, From Beyond — all movies to which I gave a cautious-but-gratifyingly-successful second chance. Could Johnny be due for a reappraisal?

Nope. It still blows.

A quick re-cap: In 2021, half of the Earth’s population suffers from something known as Nerve Attenuation Syndrome. Johnny (Matrix man Keanu Reeves, ), a mnemonic data courier whose brain has been cleared of memory to become a transportable hard drive, is hired to carry mysterious information that makes him a target of the yakuza. Much poorly choreographed adventure ensues as Johnny’s path to salvation leads him to a diverse and frankly weird assortment of actors; Dina Meyer (Starship Troopers) as a violence-prone bodyguard, Henry Rollins (Wrong Turn 2: Dead End) as a nerdy doctor, Ice-T (Surviving the Game) as a pirate hacker, and Udo Kier (Blade) in the all-important role as “the character obviously played by Udo Kier.”

It’s not the dated effects; it’s unfair to judge on FX limitations that seemed cutting-edge at the time. It’s not the ridiculousness of the plot, as that’s hardly a barometer for enjoyment (although William Gibson’s short story and initial screenplay are far more interesting than what ended up onscreen). It’s not the actors, all of whom seem intent on making the damn thing work. No, the blame rests almost wholly with Robert Longo, a gent who took a $25 million budget — reputedly the largest ever for a Canadian production at the time — and directed a movie that looks as cheap as the cheapest flick Albert Pyun ever shat out. Which is cheap indeed. Like, Kickboxer 4 cheap.

There’s a good movie in there somewhere. I don’t look to have an automatic hate-on when I pop in a DVD. I want to like a film. And I like these ideas. I like the concept of hacking the brain to become a portable hard drive. I find the concept of our technology eventually causing an epidemic intriguing. I even like the enhanced dolphin that serves as the brain of the underground movement.

And I like Reeves, an actor who too often serves as an easy punching bag but who, with the right director, honestly can bring it. But not here. Every actor in Johnny Mnemonic has on past and future occasions proved effective, even memorable in the right role. But with no leadership, all in attendance give performances subpar enough to disqualify them from appearing in even a Syfy sharkcentric pooptacular starring Lorenzo Lamas and Donna D’Errico.

Longo is so inept a filmmaker he cannot even take a religious-freak assassin who stabs people with a knife/crucifix while in the guise of a genetically modified Dolph Lundgren and make him interesting. How is that even possible? —Corey Redekop

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