TRENCH MOB

In theaters this weekend:

Journey's End--Samuel Johnson famously said that every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier. That guilty sentiment (which now probably extends to a lot of women as well) negates the intentions of a lot of supposedly "anti-war" movies.

The makers of such movies may even genuinely intend them to be anti-war, but the nature of the western narrative tradition being what it is, what often ends up onscreen is an action-adventure story with some inserted piety about the horrors of war. They may leave young viewers in the audience even more eager to rush off to battle, and older viewers reproaching themselves, Johnson-style, for never having done so.

There are exceptions, though. Probably because World War One is now historically regarded as such a colossally wasteful, sordid mess, that conflict has produced several pretty effective cautionary war dramas. All Quiet on the Western Front, both the novel and Lewis Milestone's 1930 movie, truly seem to get across something of both the terror and the futility of trench warfare in WWI. So, from the other side, does R. C. Sherriff's 1928 English play Journey's End, about desperate, shell-shocked, boozing British officers at the end of their rope in the trenches in France in spring of 1918.

Not long ago I saw the 1930 film version of Journey's End, the feature debut of director James Whale, and was impressed with how potently and poignantly it holds up. Going into this new, but surprisingly faithful, British version, directed by Saul Dibb, I feared that the claustrophobic quality of the original might be sacrificed for a more epic scale, and I'm happy say that this isn't the case. This new Journey's End is "opened out" just enough to keep it from feeling stagey, but not enough to lose its atmosphere of crushing dread.

The focus is on the veteran Captain Stanhope (Sam Claflin), a shattered alcoholic barely held together by his older Lieutenant, the avuncular schoolmaster Osborne (Paul Bettany). There's a reason that Stanhope isn't happy to see the eager new Lieutenant, Raleigh (Asa Butterfield), an old school friend who hero-worships him. Also under Stanhope's command are the chuckling, equable Trotter (Stephen Graham), the terrified Hibbert (Tom Sturridge) and the deadpan cook Mason (Toby Jones). This ensemble is terrific top to bottom, with Claflin subtly getting across the same bitter, jittery fury that Colin Clive did as Stanhope back in 1930. Butterfield is touchingly callow, and Bettany is heartbreakingly dignified as the "Uncle" Osborne.

The drama arises from the tensions and clashes, and the kindnesses, between these men. There's little in the way of battlefield action, and what there is lacks romance; it's hectic and frightening, with no sense of accomplishment. The heroism in the film, such as it is, comes from the stoicism with which these men try to face their useless deaths. By the end, you may admire them for their courage, but you're unlikely to reproach yourself for declining to share their fate.

Ready Player One--Human society is run down and slummy, but most people don't care that much because they spend most of their time in virtual reality anyway.

But enough about present-day America. Steven Spielberg's latest, based on a 2011 novel by Ernest Cline, takes this state of affairs further, into a bleak and distressingly plausible version of 2045. The teenage hero Wade (Tye Sheridan) resides in a stack of mobile homes in Columbus, Ohio. But he, like most of his neighbors, spends as much time as possible in an immersive online universe called The Oasis, in which people assume the roles of "avatars," many of them based on favorite pop-culture characters ranging from the Mutant Ninja Turtles to Harryhausen's Cyclops, as well as many original creations: Wade's avatar Parzival resembles an anime hero.

The departed creator of the The Oasis, a socially awkward genius named Halliday (Mark Rylance), has left behind a series of "Easter Eggs," three keys that, if found, will make the player the heir to The Oasis. Tye, of course, is determined to find them. It's a bit like The Matrix meets Willy Wonka, with Ben Mendelssohn as an evil corporate Slugworth. There's a dash of The Searchers, too.

Wade/Parzival falls in with various allies, and wild fights and chases ensue, both in The Oasis and the real world. The movie starts slow, and is a bit of a mess; long stretches of it, like a nutty passage set in the Overlook Hotel from Kubrick's The Shining, are absorbing and funny, while other stretches, especially the real-world stuff, recall the heavy-handed, obsequiously crowd-pleasing Spielberg of the later '80s. It's a bit perplexing to see, after the effortless command Spielberg demonstrated a couple of months ago in The Post.

The real fun is in the juxtaposition of pop icons: Where else can we get King Kong and Chucky and The Iron Giant all in the same movie, along with countless characters from video games and cartoons and toy series? Even Mechagodzilla turns up, accompanied by a whisper of Akira Ifukube's unforgettable Godzilla theme.

Ready Player One seems to be an allegorical plea for, on the commercial and political end, net neutrality, and on the personal end, a bit of moderation where online life is concerned. Neither of these positions is particularly radical, but the movie seems to have its middle-of-the-road heart in more or less the right place.

SWINGIN' RIDDICK

At the beginning of Riddick the title character, the interplanetary tough guy played by Vin Diesel—he originated in 2000’s Pitch Black—has been left in a bloody heap by his enemies on a desolate desert planet. No problem. He quickly resets his injured leg with the help of a crevasse—I mentioned he was tough, right?

The hellish world is inhabited by monsters, including some huge scorpion/earwig thingies that remain dormant, like spadefoot toads, until they get wet. He engages in combat with several of the beasties, armed only with whatever comes to hand. He quickly figures out how to survive in the caves and rock formations. He even domesticates one of the planet’s handsome wild-dog-like creatures—you can guess where this strand leads.

Pretty soon Riddick notices a rainstorm approaching, and realizes that he has to go, so he sends out a distress call. Being a wanted man, his call summons two spaceship-loads of scurvy gnarly mercenaries, all of whom want to capture and/or kill him. Riddick plays cat and mouse with them, heavy on the cat, as the rains get nearer.

Here’s a partial inventory of Riddick’s contents: Flying monsters, crawling monsters, slimy eels, automatic weapons, long-range sniper rifles, swords, huge animal traps, explosions, guys with grungy facial hair, Dave Bautista, Bokeem Woodbine, Katee Sackhoff, nudity, Katee Sackhoff nudity, parleys, infighting, snarling invective, repeated pummelings, a man in chains, elaborate vows of vengeance effortlessly delivered upon, flying jet-cycles, and even a long-absent old favorite: causing a woman to reconsider her lesbianism! I think it’s safe to call Riddick a guy movie.

In spite or maybe because of its predictability, occasional ugliness and defiantly imbecilic dialogue, it’s funny for most of its length, partly because writer-director David Twohy maintains an edge of self-parody. At least I hope he didn’t mean this dialogue seriously. It’s also because, like a lot of guy movies, Riddick, for all its violence and supposed nihilism, is deeply sentimental—until about midpoint it could, I suppose, be called a boy and his dog story.

This side of the material is where Vin Diesel’s true appeal comes in. There’s always been an improbable warmth and soulfulness lurking beneath his basso growl and his post-apocalyptic look—and, in this movie, his glowing eyes. It came through when he voiced the title character in that excellent 1999 animated film The Iron Giant, and it comes through in Riddick, too. In spite of his corny badass pose, Diesel’s Riddick comes across like a sweetie, a mensch.