It's bizarre, but you would swear Pacific Rim was an already established property. It starts on such sure and brisk footing, launching into its story, leaving no-one unconvinced of its premise time to question it. Its lore is there, prepared and developed, and then you're chugged straight into the action. Straight into a mech powered by the synthesised brains of its two co-pilots punching out a mutated dinosaur risen from a hole in the bottom of the ocean. It's tremendous. But then it's also Guillermo del Toro, so it's eccentrically textured, and you have some bizarre, off-kilter casting, and deep, thoughtful, immensely inventive creatures and world-building.
And ah, the creatures. They're these vertiginous, terrifying spectres, each so distinct and full of weight and sensibility. The action is terribly fluid – a thrill of movement and chaos – del Toro knowing how to signify development and modulation within the action with just small, visual cues, so it's never hard to follow. But, talking of modulation – nothing happens to the characters. They're pushed through a series of trials and stay the same people, or 'people'. Theirs is the kind of talk that immediately reminds you of all those weird exchanges from late-'90s, early-2000s action movies. The meaningless banter; the 'roided archetypes; the mild, exclusionary sexism; the neon-punk, and the over-the-top, marginalised foreigners. It's weird and really stupid in that regard, but it props up the stunning action and visuals ably. Ably or just, depending on your tolerance for this stuff.
In cinemas now.
