Feel the critic's wrath

Wrath of the Titans 3D
Rating: *
The most memorable thing about last spring’s Clash of the Titans was its monumentally lazy, chiasmic strapline (“Clash of the Titans: Titans Will Clash”).
Even by Hollywood standards it was a bit of a marketing nadir, and became awkwardly emblematic of how apparently little effort had been expended on the movie as a whole. Despite this, the film generated a baffling $493 million at the box office, making the prospect of a sequel into the sort of ghastly inevitability that would drive weaker reviewers to drink.
And here it is, the ghastly sequel. True to the dubious traditions of its predecessor we are presented with 99 minutes of CGI nasties, overblown costumes, and bombastic music. There’s even a rubbish strapline (“Wrath of the Titans: Feel The Wrath”).
The whole ramshackle affair takes place sometime after the events of the first film, with Perseus (Sam Worthington) living out his days as an ever-so humble fisherman. However an impromptu house call from Zeus catapults our swarthy leading man back into hero mode, and sets him on a perilous path through the Underworld.
In fairness to the film-makers, Wrath of the Titans is marginally more entertaining than its predecessor. The 3D effects have been fined-tuned, and the story doesn’t suffer from the sort of chaotic muddling that made the previous film such a trial. There are even a few nice set-pieces, such as the torturous journey through Tartarus, a constantly mutating labyrinth that owes a significant debt to the 1997 film Cube.
However, Wrath of the Titans still suffers from a lack of tension and an abundance of cringe-worthy dialogue, with characters barking
risible clichés at each other in between action sequences. On top of this, the Olympian gods are simply unconvincing as potential masters of the universe.
Liam Neeson’s Zeus spends much of the movie chained between two bits of rock, Danny Huston’s Poseidon is killed off within minutes, and Bill Nighy takes the downright strange decision to play Hephaestus as an absent-minded Yorkshireman. Call me old-fashioned, but the Hollywood gods of yesteryear used to be more, well, god-like. Wrath of the Titans makes the Olympians seem like a bunch of clapped-out has-beens, like an episode of Last of the Summer Wine with added togas.
Some readers might think it unfair to criticise the Titans movies too harshly, especially since their 1981 progenitor was little more than camp, popcorn fodder. I have some sympathy with that argument, but the sad truth is that what proved to be silly and entertaining 30 years ago feels rather feeble and dated today. If poor audience reactions to the Transformers sequels is anything to go by, it is clear that spectacle alone is not enough for modern viewers.
Hollywood studios now have to work harder to impress their customers, and half-hearted efforts like Wrath of the Titans simply do not make the grade.