Offering auds nary a wink to the dim absurdity of his mission, Diesel trudges dourly through the proceedings, practically expectorating dialogue that is, in fairness, pretty hard to play with.
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As they follow the breadcrumb trail around a city that seems markedly oblivious to the insect tornadoes and snaking “plague trees” springing up overnight - Pittsburgh fills in unsteadily for the Big Apple, though it’s not the least credible performance here - it becomes clear that the long-vanquished Queen has returned for another crack at earthly domination. He also happens upon a spunky good-witch ally in dark-arts club owner Chloe (cannily cast “Games of Thrones” alum Rose Leslie), whose initial surliness and plethora of Hot Topic accessories conceal a rare command of “dream-walking,” a strain of mind-altering white magic. From here on, the investigation plays out not unlike a super-sized episode of “Murder, She Wrote,” only with more shape-shifting ghouls and fire-strewn showdowns between good and evil. Suspecting foul play, specifically of the “fair is foul and foul is fair” variety, Kaulder begins the search for the Weird Sister responsible, with Dolan’s dormouse-like successor (Elijah Wood, decidedly under-burdened) in tow. The latest of these, Dolan 36th, takes the typically jovial form of Michael Caine, whose helpfully explanatory voiceover is unceremoniously dropped shortly after it begins - and shortly before he’s dispatched to his coffin in mysterious circumstances.
In present-day Manhattan, he lives in relatively comfortable torment in a plush Upper East Side loft, seducing the occasional air stewardess and accepting international witch-hunting assignments from a succession of priestly advisers known as Dolans.
He looks good on it, though, even if the on-trend locks are swiftly sacrificed for Diesel’s standard minimalist coiffure. Not before she afflicts him with the curse of immortality, however, thus consigning him to a lonely life of winnowing out her mangy kind, haunted by the memory of his long-perished wife and daughter. Luckily, Kaulder - sporting a braided beard and luscious undercut that would not be out of place in contemporary Williamsburg - has our backs, wasting the Queen in a murky introductory battle. It’s probably unwise to demand more detailed a milieu from a film that claims the Black Death plague of 1346-53 was in fact foisted upon humanity by a vindictive Witch Queen (Julie Engelbrecht, or what’s left of her beneath a maggoty digital mask) bent on total human eradication. And if it’s hard to buy the star as a 14th-century soldier of the Catholic Church, earnestly slaying sorceresses for 700 years without a wrinkle to show for it, the screenplay (bearing evident redrafting scars from a trio of scribes) doesn’t make much of an effort to sell the idea.įor starters, it’s uncertain where our noble witch-hunter, Kaulder, actually comes from: Based on scant evidence in the pre-credit prologue, let’s say it’s the little-remembered European land of Snowsylvania, though eight centuries has been long enough for him to adopt Diesel’s trademark gravelly drawl. Barring an early (and swiftly discarded) reference to his character’s prowess as a ladies’ man, there’s precious little room here for Diesel’s lunkish, slightly self-parodic streak of humor. Yet if its aim is to reposition him as a solo action star, perhaps re-engaging the dwindling audience for the “Riddick” films, this new vehicle doesn’t really play to his strengths - despite being developed and co-produced by the actor himself.
Despite a pre-Halloween release date, the pic is more gung-ho than gooseflesh-inclined in genre either way, it’s unlikely to mint the franchise threatened by its eminently welcome ending.Ĭommercially, given the extraordinary expanding cultural impact of the “Fast and Furious” series, “The Last Witch Hunter” might expect to ride on Diesel fumes to an extent. Too drab to succeed even as defiantly unvirtuous trash, this era-straddling tale of an immortal medieval warrior protecting modern-day New York from a Black Death reboot stifles Diesel‘s rough-hewn charisma via a sludgy, impermeable oil spill of CGI effects - in the service of largely unspectacular hocus pocus. One of the trickier tasks Vin Diesel’s eponymous hero faces in “ The Last Witch Hunter” is tracking a villain by his signature scent of “moldering crabapples” - a distinctive enough fragrance in its own right, but hard to separate from the generally funky aroma of decomposition that permeates Breck Eisner’s limp, lame-brained occult thriller.
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