I say "one of" because if you put 'em both together, it'd be one pretty good movie. I guess that would be "in retrospect, with the memory of the good parts lingering while the cringe moments fade."
Chris Evans's performance as Torcho is the the heart and soul of the film, its emotional center: shallow, preeningly self-satisfied, and vacuous. Evans does a great job in the role, and it's good to see the actor getting the exposure. He even manages to make his "Flame On!" motto convincing as a crutch, a necessary trigger-phrase for an outwardly-cocky, inwardly-insecure hero not completely in control of his powers. Rather than say, an inexplicable outburst of super gay bravado.
Note that when I say the film is at its heart shallow, preeningly self-satisfied and vacuous, I do not mean that the movie or its makers are unintelligent. They're not dumb, they just don't care. They skirt the hem of plausibility, but they don't really care whether they miss a few stitches here and there. When Reed Richards warns Johnny Flame that his supernova-mojo heat could "ignite the atmosphere," it's a credit to Ioan Gruffudd that we wonder whether maybe this is a real possibility in this movie's universe...as opposed to the quaint and discredited cusp-of-the-atomic-age bugaboo that it is in ours. But as events unfold and explanations for them are tendered, it becomes clear that what we have here isn't a gaggle of morons, so much as a gaggle of pretty smart folks with minds switched mostly off.
The performances and characterizations are on-target for the most part. Newcomer Norrin Radd as the Surfer has freaky lats, which I could maybe see if he were an actual surfer - all that paddling! But it seems like his board does all the work for him here, really. So maybe that's just a physical feature of his alien species. And his freaky big lats are in a constant state of being tensed! Like he was flexing in the mirror and they just stuck that way. It looks uncomfortable; I kept expecting Sue Storm to give him a neck-rub. Apart from the lats issues, he comes across as a little slow in the head. Perhaps aliens brood at different speeds than what we're used to. I'll give him the benefit of that.
Jessica Alba portrays emotion convincingly whenever she's invisible. Or off-screen. One's as good as the other really - where acting is concerned, she does her best work out of sight. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for her many, many nude scenes. These were pretty much all invisible, and I've heard several churls observe that this diminished the effectiveness of these scenes. Me, I'd say that it's all in keeping with the "Approved By the Comics Code Authority" tone. Only a real pig could complain on that score.
Michael Chiklis's performance as the Thing...what can I say? He's perfect. He's Ben Grimm, the gruff orange rockpile we all know and love. Only thing I wish is, he should be bigger. The Thing's nearly Hulk-sized, or oughta be! He should certainly not be the third-tallest member of any given foursome. Make no mistake, I'm not saying they should have cast a different, taller actor. Chiklis rocks. But they could have reverse-hobbitized him or something. We have the damn technology, alright?!
Ioan Gruffud's performance as Reed Richards, Mister Fantastic himself, is problematic. He's certainly game, I'll give him that. But I kind of wish he had "pushed back" a little on some of the cringe-inducing motions that they make his character go through. Gruffud seems like a capable actor. He brings a solid core of humanity to a role that could easily have seemed cold and inhuman, without stinting on the intelligence and leadership qualities that are an absolute must for the character. Yet apart from Alba's disgusting color contacts, almost all of the worst cringes come courtesy of Stretcho. I mean...that dance scene!
PUKE!!!
Now, it's possible that the F/X techs let him down on that one. Maybe that was partly their fault. I can't help but think that the scene could even have been a high point, had they backed him up with some real CGI dance wizardry - for instance, if they had him performing an amazing routine of impossibly rotating, gyrating dance moves while (mostly) retaining human shape and dimensions. Instead, he just writhes goonishly with his rubber arms stretching around. Like that should impress anybody! It's painful, and I have to admit that since Gruffud's head wobbles and facial expression would have killed just about any effect they slapped on him, he can't escape the blame entirely.
The dance scene is only the worst of a number of Stretcho moments that make you wonder who lost control of the storyboard. It's a tribute to Gruffud that Dr. Richards keeps any dignity whatsoever over the course of the storyline. Which brings up another thing, why is he "Dr." Richards but "Mr." Fantastic?
Even as I type the previous sentence, it occurs to me that that particular observation must surely already be a geek cliche. But it bears being brought up by me nonetheless.
You know what else? If the Surfer can just fly up into space and kick that cosmic cloud's ass that easy - why didn't he do it ten planets ago? Come on!
Galactus went out like an omnipotent bitch.
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