Just beating out Zoe Saldana to become sci-fi’s new It Girl, Lucy sees Scarlett Johansson attempt to combine her Marvel action credentials with the pseudo-tech philosophy of Her. On paper, it seems like it could work, as her character is given a drug that undoes the limits and boundaries of her cerebral capacity. (Hello, Limitless 2.)
On the screen, however, Luc Besson’s predictably giddy pulp-trash sensibilities reduce a potentially fascinating and complex film into a goofy, logic-free zone. As Lucy transforms into an invincible, omniscient, omnipotent and occasionally disintegrating action heroine, Lucy transforms into a largely nonsensical action romp, held together only by the debts it owes to other, better work. But in fairness to Besson, he wears his influences so proudly that it feels more like a cinematic homage than an unsalvageable mess. Lucy’s God-like ascendancy echoes The Matrix; her hilariously indulgent cosmos-contemplating monologues evoke Terrence Malick; her speed-reading journey to superherodom could be Clark Kent’s; and this striking heroine recalls Besson’s own previous outings on The Fifth Element and Leon.
While these elements fail to blend into anything resembling a logical plot (Lucy can levitate, but doesn’t fly because that would eliminate the need for dramatic car chases), the shameless, energised absurdity occasionally proves entertaining. Lucy’s heightened sensory perception is evoked through vibrant data streams, fizzling colours and a pulsing soundscape. Though Johansson’s role mainly requires an alien-like deadpan, she manages to emote through Lucy’s bizarre streams of consciousness. (“Mom, I can remember the taste of your milk in my mouth” is a line to go down in infamy.)
Aggressively stylish, unabashedly stupid and unexpectedly entertaining, Lucy is the perfect movie to watch at 10% brain capacity.