Box office pundits spent a great deal of time wondering this
week why Steven Spielberg’s The BFG tanked during its opening weekend at the
box office. (For the record, it brought in $19 million against a $140 million
investment) The only thing I can figure is that they hadn’t seen the film
because it’s quite obvious why it failed to connect with audiences – it’s an
absolute bore! Will Smith recently pointed out in an interview with Vanity
Fair that social media has irrevocably changed the way movies are perceived
and that people are now tweeting as they watch films, changing the tide of an
audience’s perception of a given product before its first weekend has ended.
I have a feeling this is what happened where The BFG is
concerned as on paper (Spielberg + Family Movie + Holiday Weekend = $$$$$$)
this had all the earmarks of being a box office winner. Alas, the buzz died on
this one as fast as an ice cube melts in the Mojave. The filmmaker had wanted
to adapt Roald Dahl’s 1982 book for years but had wanted to wait until special
effects had advanced enough to render it properly. He should have waited until
he’d found a bit of inspiration as well as there’s nary a spark in this tepid,
slow, outright dull movie.
For those without kids, the story revolves around an
insomniac orphan named Sophie (Ruby Barnhill) who has the ill fortune to espy a
giant – a big friendly one at that – one night while gazing out the window. The
big galoot (Mark Rylance) decides to take the young girl back with him to the
land of the giants because…well, I’m not really sure. I think he’s lonely but his reasons are not
very clear. (I guess we shouldn’t
consider it a kidnapping, but it sure smacks of one…) There, she meets nine
larger giants, led by Fleshlumpeater, voiced by Jemaine Clement, who seems to
be channeling Victor McLaglen (kudos to any reader who gets that allusion), who
bully the BFG and smell the blood on an English girl.
Much too much time is spent exploring the BFG’s home so we
can take in the spectacular sights they contain while three long sequences
pivoting on physical comedy do nothing to advance the plot. Adding to the
film’s troubles is that Spielberg fails to achieve any sense of rhythm. Far too many scenes are played for maximum
emotional effect preventing the story from building to a moving payoff.
Without question, the production design is top-notch with
the BFG’s home being a particular delight, populated with a great many visual
wonders (fence pickets are used as a table, a snowplow blade serves as a cleaver,
etc.) but a collection of wondrous sights alone does not a movie make. The heart and soul present in Spielberg’s
best work is missing here, an odd occurrence as this material seems tailor-made
for him.
This article appears in Jun 30 – Jul 6, 2016.
