What I don’t understand or appreciate of sleek dystopian futures is usually made up for by my appreciation of women in tight polyfiber outfits that make liberal use of bum and breast accentuation for maximum sensuous, yet haughty action heroine stunts. Aeon Flux is surely, if anything, a shining fashion shoot for the future, yet it is also a baseline appeal of a distant future in which wrongs must be righted by one for whom facial expressions are limited to vague representations of sadness or blank rage.
Charlize Theron, as the title character (yes, her name is Aeon Flux, as though a name with such imagined coolness need not be explained), is obviously capable of being pretty and her body is such that it never looks out of place with or without skin-tight material covering vital portions. But even as my own criticism of Theron’s acting has often ranged into the theatric itself, here, I must admit, the problem is not so much her lack of talent as it is Phil Hays’ and Matt Manfredi’s amateurish and adolescent script that sinks the film into mediocrity and general boredom.
Background story is told at the start of the film, in white titles. Essentially, after 99% of the world’s human population dies from a virus, a scientist named Goodchild finds a cure, and relocates the survivors to Bregna, who now, 400 years later, live under the gentle bootheel of the same scientists that saved them. There is general unrest in the society of survivors, though this is never shown. A group of rebels known as the Monicans are bent on the utter destruction of the regime. Enter Aeon, the Monicans’ most able assassin, who is assigned the mission of killing Trevor Goodchild and helping install the Monicans’ leader, played by a wild-haired Frances McDormand.
Along the way, she must battle poison dart-spewing coconuts and knife-blade grass, encounter a condom-clad Pete Postelthwaite inside a large floating jellyfish, sleep with the enemy, and of course, perform numerous body-wrenching stunts that usually end with Aeon spread eagled and crouching in a pose that reminds one of the benefits of hiring female assassins.
It was a pleasure seeing Jonny Lee Miller as the bad guy Oren, but he does little even in his plotting and scheming to make much of an impact. Likewise, Sophie Okonedo, as Aeon’s handy assassin partner, has little to do–it’s a long way from her impactful supporting role as Don Cheadle’s wife in Hotel Rwanda (Why, oh why do good actors take bad roles?). Martin Csokas is little more daring than Pride & Prejudice‘s Matt MacFayden in portraying Trevor, a man with only two emotions: sullen, and deeply somber.
There were ample opportunities to mock the film, though it was certainly better than my uber-low expectations. Mostly though, it wasn’t interesting enough to keep my attention. Which is sad, considering how much I enjoy watching women in faux-leather kicking butt. Aeon Flux is cool in name only. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Not so here.
Fringe Rating: out of 5