Wrath of the Titans
This feeble followup to 2010’s godawful Clash of the Titans sucketh the mighty big one. Perseus (Sam Worthington), the bastard son of a human mother and the god Zeus (Liam Neeson) has run off to a quiet fishing village to raise his son Helius (John Bell) away from the Z-man’s infernal rumbling. “Release the Kraken,” Zeus thundered last time out. But Perseus vanquished the beast, leaving no time for anyone to repeat that campy demand, although Perseus still has fans in the village saying things like, “Aren’t you the guy who killed the Kraken?” But Zeus is still butting in, all worried and shit because the Real Housewives of Greece aren’t into worshipping gods anymore. No worship, no glory since the gods become mortal and die if no one pays them any mind. Perseus doesn’t seem to care much if you go from his relentlessly blank expression. Worthington is so bland it’s tempting to think his avatar did the acting for him. What finally gets his attention is the kidnapping of Zeus by his brother god Hades (Ralph Fiennes), who chains him up amid the flames of the Underworld and taunts him with insults along the lines of “Dad always loved you best.”
In league with Zeus’ other love-deprived son Ares (Edgar Ramirez, a long way from his magnificence in Carlos), Hades conspires to release his and Zeus’ Big Daddy, Kronos, played by a giant, spitting hunk of digital lava spray. Neeson and Fiennes have a high old time selling out their reputations for a paycheck. I’m glad they’re happy. Wrath of the Titans wore out my patience. Crap 3D and crappier FX – a middling Minotaur, Cyclops triplets, four-armed Makhai warriors, and a flying Pegasus whose wings look ready to fall off – will do that to you. Director Jonathan Liebesman, guilty of inflicting Battle Los Angeles on an unsuspecting nation, keeps the incompetence coming with incontinent glee. If you do pay up for this toxix spray digital Styrofoam disguised as movie, see which crumbles first, your brain or Mt. Olympus.