Constantine

Constant, constant, Constantine. For that’s how long the movie seemed. Perhaps it’s the onset of senility, but I’m staring to pine for the days when Hollywood spewed forth awful, woefully misjudged graphic novel adaptations on a weekly basis. At least with Batman And Robin or Tank Girl, one could revel in the train wreck. These days, the sub-genre is typically pared down, poured into the same dirty straight-jacket used for Bruce Willis movies in the '80s and inoculated against narrative or artistic risks. Who wants to alienate demographics when there’s a franchise in the offing?
Such strategies lend a nice veneer of competence, of course, but the results aren’t exactly ravishing. Worse, with the exception of last year’s fantastically camp Catwoman, the newfangled ergonomically-safe comic flick is so straight-laced and dull, it leaves one fantasising about the giddy thrills of a Methodist fete.
Constantine is such a film. Like the Hellblazer series that inspired it, the titular anti-hero is a chain-smoking malcontent with the ability to see the half-breed demons and angels that walk among us. Unlike his literary predecessor however, this Constantine is, alas, not a Scouser, although that’s perhaps for the best given that he’s played by Keanu Reeves. (Go on. Just try to imagine how his Liverpudlian accent would sound. Just like a bag of cats doing Beijing Opera, isn’t it?)
Soon enough, plans to open the seven gates of hell or somesuch are afoot, and Keanu finds himself helping Rachel Weisz investigate the occultish suicide of her sister. As clouds gather and David Fincher’s visual back catalogue is plundered, in a devious bid to unseat William Shatner as the king of the undramatic pause, Keanu. Delivers. All. His. Lines. Like. This.
Keanu’s acting range, would of course, be sufficient to the purpose were Constantine not so uninspired. But there’s little by way of action, which only throws a spotlight on the film’s flimsier elements – dimension crossing through water, the supremely punchable sidekick (LeBeouf), vampires that would wouldn’t cut it in Dracula 1972AD...
Sadly, such flaws are not quite preposterous enough to elevate Constantine above the mundane. Thank heavens we still have Sin City to look forward to.

Running Time 121mins. Cert 15a. Opens March 18th.