Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief
Director: Chris Columbus
Holy Water
Director: Tom Reeve
Stealing the thunder from the forthcoming remake of Clash of the Titans is the Greek mythology-inspired Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief, adapted – and then some – from the first of a series of books by Rick Riordan. In it, the titular teenager (Logan Lerman) who does not know his real dad – sound familiar? – discovers that he has magic powers that allow him to control water. Percy is in fact a demi-god, the son of Poseidon (Kevin McKidd). Brother gods Zeus (Sean Bean), Hades (Steve Coogan) and any number of creatures want him for a crime he did not commit, namely, the theft of a lightning bolt, the source of Zeus’ power.
Percy is packed off to Camp Half Blood – that definitely sounds familiar – a training facility for the abandoned offspring of gods, by his kindly classics professor (Pierce Brosnan) who happens to be a centaur. There, accompanied by his best buddy Grover (Brandon T. Jackson), a satyr, Percy learns swordplay and meets the obligatory girl, Annabeth (Alexandra Daddario), the daughter of Athena. When Percy discovers that Hades has kidnapped his mother (Catherine Keener), he sets off with Grover and Annabeth to find her, encountering Medusa (Uma Thurman), a fire-breathing hydra and some intoxicating lotus flowers.
The film is not short of action and incident. Alas, it has a huge “so what?” factor. Even accepting the film’s logic, it is hard to believe that Zeus would really blame a boy he has not met for the theft of something the kid knows nothing about. Fans of the novel will be alarmed by some of the changes, including a completely missing character – what happened to Ray Winstone, who was credited on an early poster? They will also miss the Harry Potter-style slow coming to terms with one’s difference – a surprising absence given that director Chris Columbus helmed the first two Potter movies.
With her hair replaced by computer-generated snakes, Thurman contributes a creepy cameo. The film edges towards a 12A rating, especially with a beheading. When I mentioned this to my son, he scoffed derisively. Kids can take decapitation, but are less pleased that Hollywood has messed with their favourite book.
Holy Water, an alleged comedy about a group of friends who conspire to steal a consignment of Viagra and sell it on, is what I would describe as a plastic Irish movie. It looks vaguely Irish with its village setting and likeable eejits with big dreams. However, it isn’t Irish in its soul. It conflates the north and south of the island – the consignment is stolen near Belfast Airport – as if this is not a problem. Of course it is. Northern Irish streets declare their Protestant or Catholic allegiance proudly. In the Republic of Ireland, it is not an issue.
It was not even filmed in Ireland, rather the West of England. The presence of Linda Hamilton in the cast tells you the makers were aiming for an American audience. This could be an Irish film dreamt up by Bill Clinton.
Whoever concocted it – the director is Tom Reeve – they have clearly forgot that warm-hearted Irish comedies have a naive charm. The Irish do not make sex comedies, because, quite simply, they do not depict sex – or, at least, nudity. It is strange to watch a group of Irish characters, after the Viagra ends up in their water supply, taking off their kecks and getting down to it. I could not see this playing in Kilburn, never mind County Kildare.
You can swear as often as you like in an Irish film – just ask Colin Farrell (In Bruges). You can be psychotically violent in an Irish film – just ask Colin Farrell (Intermission). You cannot display breasts or pubic hair, though – just ask any filmmaker who has approached the Film Board of Ireland for funds.
This film lacks a final act. The tension is not about what happens to the Viagra, but will the group of friends get caught? In the end, two old men decide their fate. The representatives from Viagra manufacturer Pfizer (among them Linda Hamilton and Tiny Loc) are sent on a wild beacon chase and the film fizzles out. I was actually expecting something with a bit more substance. At least it wasn’t Wholly Moses. Who remembers that wholly awful Dudley Moore comedy?
Patrick Mulcahy
