There is much to be said about how Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, the sixteenth and, now, final instalment of the DC Extended Universe that Zack Snyder kickstarted in 2013, is the grand finale of a franchise that has spanned ten years, multiple creative heads and, most curious of all, two full-on, feature-length motion pictures about Aquaman. Plenty of think pieces can be written about how 2018’s Aquaman, James Wan’s first crack at the King of Atlantis, is the highest grossing DC film of all time, or how this is inexplicably following-on from a very clear, and fittingly cynical, universe reset in The Flash, or how some of the final defining images of DC’s first attempt at a cinematic universe will include a blue octopus, baby urine, and Patrick Wilson chowing down on cockroaches (there’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere). What should not get glossed over amidst the struggle, however, is how Wan’s follow-up stands on its own, because historically that is how it will be remembered: it fucking blows.
Several years have passed since Arthur Curry, more commonly known as “Aquaman” (Jason Momoa), usurped his brother Orm (Patrick Wilson) for the Atlantis throne. Since then, a number of things have happened: he has become increasingly disinterested in the politics of royal life; he has married his brother’s ex, Mera (Amber Heard), and fathered a child; he has returned for reshoots in Zack Snyder’s 2021 director’s cut of Justice League before cameoing in Peacemaker – he has, in short, been a very busy boy. All the while, Arthur’s rival, Black Manta (an unforgivably squandered Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), has been equally busy, scavenging for Atlantean tech and ultimately discovering an evil Black Trident that corrupts him into “doing climate change” (that is about as nuanced as the film’s frankly unnecessary take on global warming is). Arthur, faced with no other options (or at least none that don’t require paying Henry Cavill money), is thus forced to team up with his brother, Orm, to fight back against Black Manta and not just save Atlantis, but Earth itself.
Patrick Wilson, subsequently, is the main selling point of Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom. Well, the first main selling point is a gloopy blue octopus that occasionally shows up to sass Jason Momoa and utterly steals the show, but of the film’s human cast Wilson is the least willing to phone it in: Nicole Kidman (as Atlanna) doesn’t care, Dolph Lundgren (as Nereus) is frequently lost, Amber Heard has no chemistry with the romantic lead and even Momoa, often famed for his ultimate cool dude energy, consistently struggles to make his low-effort banter with Wilson work. It is the dynamic between Momoa and Wilson, ultimately, where Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom … coasts on neutral – the nuances of their relationship and rivalry are too underdeveloped to make any redemption meaningful, and neither actor is particularly excited to be there. But there is also a snarky energy underpinning their jibes, alternating between Wilson’ straigthtfaced properness and Momoa’s ode to fratboys everywhere, that keeps the tone upbeat and jovial, almost akin to a rollicking adventure.
Wan proudly embraces the pulpy tone that a film like Aquaman necessitates, including poking fun at the first film’s goofier flaws (such as every conversation being interrupted by an explosion, which makes a cheeky comback), and shows a keen craftsmanship with some of the more ambitious camerawork and production design. Generally speaking, anything that happens above land – which, for a film about the dude leading Atlantis, is surprisingly a lot – enters a lottery between being either a polished James Wan production or hacked-to-pieces, greenscreen schlock. This is, however, still better odds than the underwater sequences, because at least here there is a tangibility to the occasional prop or set. There, however, the oppressive visual murkiness of Aquaman’s oceanic ugliness, following up last year’s visually spectacular Avatar: The Way of Water with something that is simultaneously too shiny, too drab, too rubbery, and too busy, is frequently outright hideous. Some of the designs and ideas, like an underwater mechsuit with gangly legs, feel fun, flighty, and inspired, but they’re never implemented in a way that actually feels convincing. Everything clashes against everything else, but never with any chaotic, impish glee.
The entire production is slapdash and hacked together, crudely formed from a series of explosions, quips, and unfinished moments masquerading as actual scenes. Everything then coalesces into a Return of the King-inspired climax that is murky, incomprehensible and lacks both the comprehensive silliness and flourishes of effective horror that made the first film somewhat watchable (albeit it is smaller in scale, which did save me a headache). Black Manta, in particular, is sapped of all his agency and charisma through the Black Trident’s influence, forcing Randall Park to singlehandedly make the villains’ plight more interesting through a very game performance that wrestles with the immorality of Manta’s plan (i.e., “doing climate change” is suboptimal). Having a character feel some form of internal conflict should not be too impressive, but here it feels revelatory — this is, after all, a film where a wordless octopus gloops his way into having more personality than the film’s protagonist.
All in all, Aquaman the Lost Kingdom is inflected with the aesthetic of an archaic video game cutscene, and not even a AAA game at that. Rather, it feels like the overpriced DLC for a previous AAA smash-hit that no-one involved wanted to actually make, comprised of random quests that don’t gel together, a climax that is a glorified quciktime event, and even janky controls as Patrick Wilson, albeit very humorously, struggles to run. It’s own parent company doesn’t want it anymore, leaving it orphaned amidst the twilight hours of a year that has already been none too kind to below-average superhero fare. And even with that level of sympathy, it is just a complete nonentity of a motion picture – too light and airy to truly hate, but also so light and airy that it borderline floats away. The DCEU deserved to crash and burn; instead, it drowns in a puddle.
Film Scribe 