If you're willing to accept two hours of scenes like that, chances are you'll have a blast at "Mission: Impossible III." If you think what I've just described sounds stupid and preposterous, then this may not be the film for you. This is a thoroughly stupid and preposterous movie, and to go in expecting something other than stupidity and preposterousness would be a grave mistake. But even the most serious of audiences should consider giving "M:I-3" a try -- because, for all its absurdity, this happens to be one of the most fun movies I've seen all year.
But back to that scene. The guy impersonating the arms dealer at the Vatican ball is Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise), an agent from the Impossible Mission Federation. You may recall Ethan from Missions I and II, when he saved the world from vague international threats while still managing to keep his chiseled looks relatively intact. Clearly these responsibilities must have been exhausting, since the third film opens with a retired Ethan settling into a relaxed life with his sweet-eyed fiance Julia (Michelle Monaghan). Alas, guys who work for organizations with the word "Impossible" in the title never quite seem to make it out the door, and it turns out that Ethan is being called back for One Last Job on the eve of his marriage.
His last mission is to rescue a kidnapped co-worker. The kidnapper is Owen Davian (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who is nebulously identified by Ethan's boss as "a black-market trafficker of the highest level." We learn that Davian is currently in pursuit of a mysterious biochemical weapon called "The Rabbit's Foot" which has the power to wipe out all humanity, or something like that.
To take down Davian, Ethan assembles a crack team of fellow agents, composed of a streetwise black dude (Ving Rhames), a hot Asian chick (Maggie Q) and a cocky British guy (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers). I have begun to suspect that there is a talent agency somewhere which specializes in providing streetwise black dudes, hot Asian chicks and cocky British guys as back-up for action heroes like Ethan Hunt, since these character types seem to pop up in just about every action movie nowadays. Just once I'd like to see a film where a black college professor, a frumpy Asian woman and a stately British gentleman get to go on missions with Tom Cruise as their sidekick. Maybe in "Mission: Impossible IV."
But I digress. Ethan Hunt and company manage to bag Davian by the film's 40-minute mark, but he quickly escapes with (mild spoiler warning) Ethan's helpless fiance Julia in tow. As if stopping global catastrophe weren't enough, Ethan now also must rescue the woman he loves from Davian's clutch. At this point, the film treats us to the usual all-you-can-eat buffet of car chases, explosions, shoot-outs, etc., during which the plot becomes maddeningly complicated or nonexistent depending on your point of view.
Its few unexpected twists notwithstanding, the formula of "Mission: Impossible III" is far from wildly original.
What makes the film's approach feel fresh, however, is the hog-wild attitude with which director J. J. Abrams (TV's "Alias") approaches the proceedings. Abrams amps up the action scenes to a point of near delirium, and the few laws of physics which get broken in the process are tossed to the wayside as necessary casualties of battle. Whereas the first two "Mission: Impossible" films felt weighted down by fight scenes so over-choreographed that they seemed almost balletic, here the combat is filmed at such a breakneck pace that we have to catch our breath when it's over.
Yet for a film so invigorated by its action scenes, there is a unexpected tenderness in the romantic subplot between Ethan and Julia, who exists as more than just an excuse for Tom Cruise to take his shirt off every now and then. Their relationship feels surprisingly real given the ridiculousness of everything else in the movie, and by the time Julia is kidnapped, we know her well enough to care that she's in danger. It's proof again that, whatever one can say about his personal life, it's hard to deny that Cruise is awfully good at playing the romantic lead; here he acts largely with his eyes, communicating affection and masculine stoicism in equal measure.
Then, of course, there's Philip Seymour Hoffman, fresh off his Oscar win from "Capote," playing the first wholly villainous role of his career as the nefarious arms dealer. The temptation looms large in a film this ludicrous for the bad guy to be played as a mustache-twirling hambone, but Hoffman goes in the opposite direction, draining Davian of any sort of emotion beyond a cold detached boredom. When Davian tells Ethan that he intends to make him suffer beyond measure, there's an unassuming matter-of-factness in Hoffman's tone -- The statement is intended not as a threat so much as a statement of fact. Indeed, Hoffman eventually beats the crap out of Cruise later on in the movie, during which I found a certain ironic pleasure in watching the poster boy for art-house sensibility lay waste to the pinnacle of Hollywood megastardom.
I mentioned that "Mission: Impossible III" was far-fetched. The action sequences break every law in the book, the gadgetry belongs in Star Trek, and the plot makes more sense the less I think about it. But so what? That little voice in the back of my mind that kept pointing out all the implausibilities was quickly drowned out by the frenzied energy of the story, which is precisely what a good action movie is supposed to accomplish in the first place. Once you accept a film like this on its own wildly preposterous grounds, it can prove to be one hell of a ride.
