Fantasy Island (2020)

A TV mainstay of the 1970s, Fantasy Island ran for seven seasons successfully by adhering to a four-step formula, sprinkled liberally with Ricardo Montalban as suave resort host Mr. Roarke:
1. Guests fly to the titular isle.
2. Guests experience their fantasy.
3. Guests learn a lesson.
4. Guests depart the island.

Jeff Wadlow’s film version of Fantasy Island does the same, yet can’t succesfully make it through less than two hours. The concept’s second step is so malleable and ripe with possibilities that it would be difficult to botch, yet the Blumhouse production does just that. It isn’t the incompetent train wreck its savage reviews may suggest; it’s just boring, which is arguably worse.

In for Montalban is End of Watch’s Michael Peña as Roarke. Among his weekend guests are a sandblasted Lucy Hale (reteaming with Wadlow from Blumhouse’s Truth or Dare), out for revenge; Priest’s Maggie Q, out for love; Swallow’s Austin Stowell, out for closure; and brothers Ryan Hansen (Central Intelligence) and Jimmy O. Yang (Patriots Day), out to get laid. Other than keep these subplots on separate tracks as the TV show, anthology-style, Wadlow attempts to unify them into one big plot weighed down with rules and mythology no one wants or needs explained.

The problem in doing so is that each begins with distinct elements, from torture porn to raunchy comedy to family drama, then all shoved under the veneer of the supernatural. And since no subplot works on its own, they underwhelm even more in tandem. As a mor(t)ality tale, Fantasy Island throws viewers a lot of things that sound inviting — duplicitous duplicates, sea snakes, Charlotte McKinney’s bouncing breasts — but add nothing to its spooky stew of emptiness. I wish I had seen it in theaters, if only to witness audience members’ reaction to the last shot’s “reveal”; I suspect they groaned, and they had every right. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Deep Impact (1998)

When originally released, Deep Impact was, arguably, the better of the two killer-space-rock movies released that summer, the other being the Michael Bay-directed Armageddon.

But now, 20 years later, viewed through the stinging eyes of the COVID-19 pandemic, it has become a once-hopeful film of a government that knows what it’s doing, a president who actually cares about people, and the world coming together in solidarity to defeat a deadly threat from outer space.

How times have changed.

In this 1998 disaster film, the comet is accidentally discovered by teenager Elijah Wood, then passed on to astronomer Charles Martin Smith, who is accidentally run off the road and killed in a fiery explosion. A year later, this rock — dubbed ELE, for extinction-level event — is discovered accidentally by Téa Leoni, back when America accidentally gave her a career.

As President Tom Beck (Morgan Freeman) soothes the nation with those dulcet, proto-Obama tones, a group of astronauts with the unlikely names of Spurgeon Tanner (Robert Duvall), Oren Monash (Ron Eldard) and Dr. Gus Partenza (Jon Favreau) look to blow up the thing with nuclear missiles. Meanwhile, Wood marries his 15-year-old girlfriend (Leelee Sobieski).

When I originally viewed this in the theater, I was a bit bummed by how little destruction there actually was. But, watching it now, I’m actually impressed by the amount of scientific planning — fake or not — that went into the months of prepping before the actual aerial collision, and I believe that’s mostly thanks to director Mimi Leder and writers Bruce Joel Rubin and Michael Tolkin.

So while Earth might not be affected by a comet the size of New York City anytime soon — dear God, I sure hope not — while under quarantine we can at least, collectively, watch this slow-burn sci-fi flick and dream about better times when the total immolation of our planet was the only thing we had to worry about. —Louis Fowler

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Stay Tuned for Terror (1965)

From Emilio Vieyra, director of The Curious Dr. Humpp, comes the arguably more bizarre Argentinian tale Stay Tuned for Terror, aka Strange Invasion, in which an entire town’s television sets suddenly go on the fritz. It all happens in Clearview — subtle, Señor Vieyra — where every channel of every TV starts broadcasting only a ’round-the-clock hypnotic pattern of waves, baffling authorities.

This is immediately met with the urgency of government response, shouting over the phone, screeching brakes, nosy reporters and fully suited men problem-solving in a board room as if this were Apollo 13 and not just housewives crying in vain, “Gimme my stories!”

Because children have no taste and will watch anything, Clearview’s kids remain transfixed by the signal, which renders them glassy-eyed and cataleptic — basically, the most emotionless kids this side of Midwich. Remove them from their perch in front of the tube and they fall ill and throw tantrums, much like today’s tots when the Wi-Fi signal goes down. As doctors and other experts theorize the signal’s origin and purpose, prepare to hear “diathermic” so often, you could make a drinking game out of it.

Unlike its cathode-ray threat, Stay Tuned for Terror is harmless speculative fiction, more fun in concept than in execution. Written by Philip Kearney and Les Rendelstein, the duo behind Paul Bartel’s wonderfully warped Private Parts, the pic grows as repetitive as the Liberty Mutual jingle, but at 71 minutes, is mercifully brief. The message is perfectly simple; the meaning is clear: TV is a drug, so please, for the love of God and country, patronize the cinema. —Rod Lott

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Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)

Based on the Sega Genesis video game that I watched my brother play throughout most of the ’90s, Sonic the Hedgehog is a blue rodent who spins, flips and, most of all, runs very fast. I guess that was all you needed for a successful gaming franchise back then.

In this feature-film outing, Sonic (voiced by Ben Schwartz) is apparently an alien on a distant planet. When his owl caregiver is murdered by somewhat offensive savages, he comes to Earth and spends his years in a small town, wishing he had a family. When he gets angry, however, his supersonic speed causes a nationwide electrical blackout.

Thinking it’s a terrorist plot, the Army sends in Dr. Robotnik (a questionable Jim Carrey), sans his Mean Bean Machine. Using a wide variety of robots and drones, Sonic and small-town cop Tom (James Marsden) go on the lam, running into bikers and such on their way to San Francisco, where Sonic has to find a bag of magic rings.

Better late than never, Sonic barreled his way into theaters before the quarantine started, to impressive numbers, but it will mostly be remembered for being pushed back multiple times as digital artists desperately tried to erase the 1s and 0s that originally made up Sonic’s creepy teeth. Oh, the things we used to care about!

And while the redone Sonic is irritatingly adorable, Carrey’s shtick is somewhat dated; still, Robotnik is an interesting character, one I would like to see more of — preferably in the form of a solo flick I’d rent from Redbox — but, instead, it looks like we’re getting a sequel featuring Tails, a flying fox with the deformity of two tails. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Spaceship Earth (2020)

In 1991, in the appropriately named Arizona city of Oracle, eight people thought they were stepping into a massive vivarium for a two-year, 24/7 science project. And they were. But they failed to realize what else they were stepping into: a shitstorm. Known as Biosphere 2, the “prefab paradise,” as dubbed by Diane Sawyer, soon became a magnet for controversy, including allegations of cults and charlatans.

And that’s only part of the story, decades in the making, told by documentarian Matt Wolf (Recorder: The Marion Stokes Project) in Spaceship Earth.

With $250 million backing and inspiration from the sci-fi oddity Silent Running, Biosphere 2 was the dream project of John P. Allen, a nomadic Oklahoma native who took a left-of-left turn after Harvard and assembled a countercultural theater troupe whose members then built themselves a self-sustaining ranch community, and after that, a seafaring research vessel, just because, hey, why not? Honestly, from there, an artificial ecological system doesn’t seem like a stretch.

Aided tremendously by copious home movies capturing seemingly every move of Allen and his crew, Wolf’s can-do New Age tale of wonder and might restores the credibility the brave and bold experiment initially had, until public curiosity beget a media circus, which in turn beget a controversy with no real stakes.

Whatever your stance, Biosphere 2 was a big deal when it opened — and then closed, hermetically speaking — but memories of it have fallen away. (And yet, the mindless comedy it inspired, the Pauly Shore vehicle Bio-Dome — unacknowledged by the doc, for the record — is retroactively regarded as a “classic” by people who clearly saw it too young, before they developed taste.) The only thing more surprising than Spaceship Earth’s Rue McClanahan cameo is that of multishirted serpent Steve Bannon, but every good story needs a villain. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

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