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Review: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

★☆☆☆☆
One Star

I am old enough to have hazy recollections of watching — on VHS cassette — the old cartoon episodes of Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles (as it was then called), and playing an equivalently named computer game on the original NES console. Neither experience recalls particu­larly warm memories, but they were enjoyable enough ways of procrastinating at the time. The Turtles franchise has since then been through several film iterations. The one I remember from the early ‘90s consisted of actors in rath­er camp-looking costume suits, which, for all their artistic foibles, had a certain charm. This review is of 2014’s effort.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014) is an at­tempt to reboot, à la Batman Begins, an oth­erwise tired franchise. As with Nolan’s effort to make serious the camp crusader, this film attempts to make darker, more serious and edgier our heroes in a half-shell. In the direc­tor’s chair is Jonathan Liebesman, of whom I must confess to never having heard of before. IMDb tells me that his previous outing was at the helm of Wrath of the Titans, which, I am assured, was insufferably awful. Before that he churned out Battle: Los Angeles, which, I can assure you, was insufferably awful. Sadly, Turtles adds to his growing canon of undistin­guished output.

The plot? April O’Neil (played by Megan Fox, with zero panache) is a hungry young journal­ist, tired of producing puff-pieces, hungering for her big break in churnalism. Then along comes the dream story she’s always wanted — four six-foot-tall vigilantes combating crime on the streets of the city. April has the exclu­sive.

The only caveat she faces is that these vigilantes are all giant mutated turtles, that “speak English” (April’s words) and their ring leader is a worryingly wise giant talking rat (Splinter). Unsurprising­ly, April’s editor (Whoopi Goldberg — who knew she was still acting?) disobligingly refuses to broad­cast the discovery, and April begins a personal quest for proof of her claims. Before long, she and said turtles be­come embroiled in a vast terrorist conspiracy (with a plot un­nerv­ingly similar to that of Batman Begins) led by a martial arts expert in a titanium suit (Shred­der!). Can they save the day?

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One can understand how drivel like this gets made. There is a pre-existing franchise, which guarantees access to a ready-made fan base, however threadbare. There is already a plot and well-defined set of characters, so writers have to do little more than adapt an existing mythology to a screenplay. It is easy to storyboard, and producers can exercise a high level of control over the final prod­uct (historically the preserve of a director). Chances are that box office returns will be healthy.

But as artistic output, or even light entertainment fodder, Turtles is simply dread­ful. The heroes themselves are completely devoid of charm or humour. The ‘banter’ be­tween them is cringe-worthy, distinguished by its pre-eminent quality of farce. Less than twenty minutes into the running time, the film resorts to flatulence jokes. The computer generated imagery is unusually bad, so one cannot even suspend disbelief (as if the plot premise were not challenge enough). Splinter looks particularly absurd.

Can I say anything positive? The camera is held steady. The stunts are reasonably compe­tently handled. The plot, though lacklustre, is easy enough to follow. In mitigation to Me­gan Fox, she appears to have spent most time on set exchanging dialogue with imaginary creatures, later inserted through CGI in post-production, so she had little to ‘act’ against. I have considered whether I am simply judg­ing Turtles by the wrong standard, and should instead speculate on whether a child would enjoy it. Perhaps so, but I am not aware of children ma­triculating at Oxford or, gener­ally, reading Cherwell. Unless you seek an exercise in nostalgia, or need to entertain a tasteless child for a couple of hours, avoid this film at all costs.

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