The force loses its lustre as Rogue One takes itself too seriously, while Daniel Radcliffe excels as a flatulent corpse
Much was made in advance of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (Disney, 12) being a standalone film in the now 40-year-old space-hopping franchise, a narrative that tucks in snugly before the events of 1977’s series starter, but introduces fresh characters and objectives within a known world. It’s a good idea: studio money guzzlers wouldn’t dream of letting the whole thing lie, but the overt nostalgia mined by The Force Awakens isn’t a limitless resource. So why does Rogue One, for all its ostensible newness of story and tone, feel so heavy, so desultory, so beige in look and outlook?
Gareth Edwards, who graduated to the big league with style in Godzilla, takes his cue from more terrestrial war cinema. Squint a bit and you can spot flecks of Platoon or even The Thin Red Line in its sober dedication to battle, as it follows doughty Jyn Erso – Felicity Jones, trying hard with a character written only as a collection of virtues – and a troupe of fellow lock-jawed rebels on a quest to steal plans for the Death Star from the Empire.
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Source: Guardian
