Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom is the last gasp of Warner Bros’ long-running and ill-fated DC Extended Universe (DCEU), which is now being rebooted by James Gunn and Peter Safran as the DC Universe (DCU). As a result, there’s no serialized-storytelling reason to be invested in James Wan’s sequel to 2018’s marine blockbuster. In fact, there’s no cause of any kind to pay attention to this lavishly hectic and cacophonous washout of a follow-up, whose plot is nonsense, visuals are garish, and performances are the wooden sort born from having talented actors pretend to be underwater and interacting with fanciful creatures on green screen sets. It’s a franchise farewell so underwhelming, nary a tear will be shed over its passing.
Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (in theaters Dec. 22) is crazily overdesigned and belligerently busy. Worse, it’s absurdly inconsequential. Set years after its predecessor, it finds Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa), aka Aquaman, now firmly ensconced on the throne of Atlantis, as well as married to Mera (Amber Heard), with whom he’s recently had a son. Things couldn’t be going better for the hero, who splits his time between life on land and in the sea, except that he’s intensely bored by his royal duties and prefers to be battling nefarious pirates, as he does during the film’s opening. Luckily for him, David Leslie Johnson-McGoldnick’s script (based on a story co-conceived with Wan, Momoa, and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett) introduces Star Wars prequels-style government councils and warring political factions and then wholly ignores them in favor of establishing a brewing showdown between Aquaman and old foe David Kane (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), otherwise known as Black Manta.
Regardless of his prior defeat at the hands of Aquaman, the big-helmeted Black Manta hasn’t abandoned his quest for vengeance against the Justice League member, whom he loathes for killing his dad. To best the superhero, he goes in search of Atlantean technology that will restore his power suit. With the aid of scientist Dr. Stephen Shin (Randall Park), he locates it, along with a Black Trident that causes him to become possessed by the weapon’s maker, Necrus, who resembles a demonic-skeleton King Triton and who was once the ruler of the oceans’ long-lost seventh kingdom. Wielding the Black Trident makes Black Manta really strong and really mean. It also compels him to raid secret storage facilities in order to steal Orichalcum, a magical substance that fuels his ship and, when burned, releases greenhouse gasses (and is green!) that are rapidly accelerating global climate disasters—something that Necrus covets, since he’s intent on getting thawed out of his frozen prison.
Everything underwater in Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom looks and sounds like a cross between The Little Mermaid and Avatar (particularly a band comprised of fish-faced musicians), with plentiful additional flourishes pilfered from Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings. Its narrative, meanwhile, channels arguably the worst Marvel Cinematic Universe entry, Thor: The Dark World, by having Aquaman combat this eco-threat by reluctantly teaming up with his villainous brother Orm (Patrick Wilson), who’s gone scrawny during his time locked away in a desert kingdom, but who grows brawny once he reconnects with the water. Orm is still bitter about being dethroned by his older half-sibling and grumbles a lot about their partnership. It’s Wilson, though, who should be resentful about the proceedings, considering that they provide him with mouthfuls of mundane exposition and yet nothing funny to say—including a joke about him being tricked by Aquaman into eating bugs.
Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom decorates its every frame with five hundred CGI details, each one uglier than the last; its gargantuan cities, ancient ruins, day-glo flora and fauna, and sea creature-esque crafts and gizmos are excessively elaborate and off-putting. Wan rarely pauses the film long enough to catch its breath, much less to effectively elicit laughs from his scattered gags, the most pitiful of which concerns an espionage-expert cephalopod. At regular intervals, it seems that crucial bits of information were left on the cutting room floor and replaced by clunky dialogue, and its set pieces are often hurried to the point of incomprehensibility. It’s unreasonable to expect great drama from an endeavor such as this, but Wan’s failure to stage a passably lucid (never mind exhilarating) skirmish is near fatal.
From Rupert Gregson-Williams’ bellicose score to Don Burgess’ smeary and unreal 3D visuals, Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom’s aesthetics are gaudy and gross, and they overwhelm all, especially the cast’s turns. When Momoa casually blows the foam off a just-opened can of Guinness, it proves to be the sole authentic moment in the entire film; otherwise, he’s rendered a banally stout do-gooder with only fleeting traces of the giddy dudebro energy that originally made his Aquaman a refreshing counterbalance to the DCEU’s grimdark seriousness. Personality is sorely lacking throughout, with Abdul-Mateen II scowling perfunctorily, Heard consigned to the periphery, and Dolph Lundgren wearing a goofy suit of armor and bellowing blandly. More embarrassing still, as Aquaman and Orm’s mom Atlanna, Nicole Kidman lends her likeness to a digital avatar that performs her big badass feats. When allowed to actually act, she counsels her kids to look out for each other because, you know, family.
Though its tale involves climate change and ends on a note of tolerance and togetherness, there’s no substance to Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, whose creative bankruptcy is epitomized by a final declaration that dimly rips off Iron Man. Despite employing legions of computer artists, there’s zero imagination to the material, which hinges on elements (Orichalcum, ultrasonic echo canons) that come across as ludicrous from the get-go and just get sillier the more they’re referenced. Wan is so devoid of ideas that he dives into his horror-cinema playbook, be it a brief nod to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or a clichéd bit in which a monster drags a screaming victim away from the camera and into the dark. Those devices, however, aren’t as scary as the frightfully unattractive imagery peddled by this franchise capper—or the film’s squandering of the charismatic Momoa in a vehicle that’s a good 20,000 leagues beneath him.
