THE LONE RANGER

LONE RANGER-002

If THE LONE RANGER is an attempt to rebirth the Western, I’m afraid it’s still born. With its unwieldy length, imposition of an old Tonto retelling the story, a dreadful deadpan Depp bordering on dull, this poisons the well of Western box office as devastatingly as an asbestos inhaler.

The best thing that can be said of THE LONE RANGER is that its set pieces are worthy of Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton, but are so mismatched in the feeble narrative as to be puzzling rather than palpable.

The originators of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise probably thought it a no brainer to swap Jack Sparrow’s tri-corner for Tonto’s ornithological chapeau and have Johnny Depp work his magic, but whereas the buccaneer was funny in his flamboyance, the Injun is under the bottom, the dead pan just plain dead, like he’s smoke signaling his performance in.

Armie Hammer – what a name – is asked to look chiseled and no more and so that’s what he does. He is more the lame ranger than the lone – and anyway, he’s certainly not lone, he’s saddled with the annoying, filthy paint faced Comanche. Armie hasn’t been in a movie worth his talent since The Social Network – let’s hope his turn as Illya Kuryakin in the upcoming Man From UNCLE is a better outing.

Helena Bonham Carter is fun but under utilised as the one legged brothel keeper Red Harrington, who keeps a peacemaker in her prosthetic.

Tom Wilkinson is cliché ridden railway mogul; William Fitchner is the vile Butch Cavendish, and Barry Pepper as a Custeresque cavalry man rounds out the cast in search of a script.

This is the first real misstep for director Gore Verbinski ( Mousehunt, The Mexican, Rango)–hopefully he will correct himself and not fall into the Michael Bay abyss. Because this movie looks like it has been made by that brat of bombast.

The Lone Ranger was born of radio – with respect to this pictorial presentation, it’s where he belongs.

Hi ho Silver? Tarnished.