Movie Review: The Maze Runner (2014)
I didn’t really have high hopes for The Maze Runner (2014). Sure, I looked forward to seeing it on the off chance that it would be a lot of fun, but I didn’t expect it to be a particularly “good” movie. And it’s not, but neither is it “bad.” The Maze Runner is just another entry in a long line of YA dystopia adaptations, one which never seems to escape the confines of a cinematic formula. At its most basic, The Maze Runner can be summed up as follows: Thomas wakes up in a mysterious elevator cage without any memory of who or where he is, only to be thrust into the company of a ragtag group of boys who have learned to survive in the Glade, which rests at the center of a massive, murderous maze. But Thomas isn’t as willing to accept the status quo as the rest. Desperate to understand why they are in the Maze and who designed it, Thomas tries to piece together his fragmented memories and find a way out of the Maze. Doing so, however, may threaten the entire community… The premise of the film is fairly standard YA dystopia stuff, although what apparently separates Thomas from the rest of the boys is his curiosity, which sounds less like a magic skill than some kind of behavioral conditioning that the film barely acknowledges. Fans of the books have been raving about this film, as to be expected, which might explain why it has earned nearly $200mil worldwide as of Oct. 5th, 2014. But I’m not convinced that The Maze Runner will have a lasting impact. Clearly, I’m less enthusiastic about this movie than fans of the book. First, the film ends on a massive cliffhanger that is only barely foreshadowed in the handful of clues offered to us throughout the story. Though I generally loathe cliffhangers, I did at least expect this one because I had read the novel. However, what the film doesn’t do is provide a cogent motion from “we know absolutely nothing about what is going on, except some vague speculation” to “oh, now we have the whole story because [spoilers].” The ending is so abrupt that it shatters any semblance of logic the audience had pieced together throughout the rest of the film, leaving a kind of cold, detached sensation that I’m not convinced was intentional — and if it was, not in the way I mean. There are likewise numerous gaps in the film’s logic, such as why the stingers on the Grievers (the monsters of the maze) have the effect they do or what the Maze has to do with what has happened in the real world (I still don’t understand how that part works). Second, the film’s pacing is either stilted or simply “off.” In one important scene, Thomas is attacked by a Runner (folks who map the maze in order to find a way out) who has been stung, but this scene comes out of nowhere without any real buildup, and it ends in a remarkably anticlimactic way. There are likewise moments in the film which arise in such a hackneyed fashion that I could see the “character development time” coding on the figurative wrapping paper. These types of scenes jump back and forth in a way that limits the buildup to the climax; for me, this meant that those final moments lacked the impact that they needed to escape the bonds of the cliffhanger. I almost want to blame this on the script, but I think there is a deeper problem here. That problem might be that The Maze Runner is utterly forgettable. The direction, while serviceable, falls short of delivering something that would separate this film from its contemporaries. There is tension here, but it is lackluster, simple. Take this scene, for example: This is the first time we hear the sound of the Maze or witness the doors closing, and it is clear that what we’re supposed to feel is not dissimilar to what Thomas’ face conveys: fear and confusion. But what the scene evoked for me was less tension, fear, or confusion, but rather the activity of producing those feelings. I should feel chilled by that howling wind or the sudden realization that something weird is going on. A shift of sound or a manipulation of perspective shots could do the trick, but what this clip does — and what much of The Maze Runner does — is give me the feeling of a feeling, but rarely the feeling itself. Simulacrum, if you will. This became apparent to me upon rewatching Gareth Edwards’ Godzilla (2014). Though an imperfect film, there’s a clear sense in Godzilla that Edwards understood the scale of a world at the mercy of giant monsters. Thus, we end up with scenes like this: The above clip is the first time we see Godzilla “in full,” though he remains too larger for the film’s frame. The entire scene is built on tension, moving from the almost ant-like motion of humanity and its devices to the slow, deliberate crush of Godzilla’s foot, which severs the massive wall of sound, as if suggesting that everything has simply stopped. And then the roar. That roar. The buildup to it is gorgeous, with the discordant choir building to crescendo. It’s beauty incarnate. To be fair to The Maze Runner, perhaps I should point to a genre-related example: The Hunger Games (2012). In doing so, however, I hope it will become apparent what I mean when I suggest that The Maze Runner manages to be serviceable, but never seems to use the various regions of the filmic space to convey the feelings it intends the audience to receive, just as its characters, as I’ll discuss later, so often lack those same emotions (even Thomas seems less scared than utterly confused in the clip provided above). Take the Cornucopia sequence from The Hunger Games as an example: As in the Godzilla clip, this sequence uses sound