SPOILER WARNING. The original Thunderbirds was an eccentric, low-budget, weird piece of TV science fiction with the emphasis on alluring gadgetry and brilliant machines. The fact that all roles were played by puppets certainly helped it attain a certain cult status. Fans and even casual viewers have fond memories of puppets bobbing around miniature sets and palm trees folding back to allow Thunderbird 2 to get down the runway. Approaching a cinematic updating of the concept, director Jonathan Frakes had two choices: Go for a faithful, no-holds-barred action-packed romp full of alluring gadgetry and brilliant machines with a 21st century gloss, or ruin the whole thing and make the worst film of the year. Unfortunately, Mr. Frakes chose the latter option. That his film is bad does not seem to be the result of people trying to make a good film and failing; rather it appears that from the outset they hampered themselves with a lousy script, unappealing performers and a total misjudgement of their intended audience. Things start out well enough, with a lavish and entertaining credit sequence. Pretty soon, though, as we are swiftly introduced to the doltish Alan Tracey in his low-budget sub-Hogwarts school, packed with drama-school extras who are all ten years younger than him, things take a turn for the worse. Alan is the youngest son of the head Thunderbird, played here by a depressingly lacklustre Bill Paxton. Alan's older brothers, a gang of adolescent interchangeable hunks with up-to-the-minute haircuts that will ensure the film dates a lot quicker than the TV show ever did, are allowed to fly powerful space rockets all day, and Alan wants to join them. But guess what? He has some growing-up to do first. Cue a villain who comes up with a brilliant plan to get all the Thunderbirds off the island, thus allowing him to infiltrate their high-security lair and... steal lots of money from the Bank of London. Yawn. This hilariously unexciting plot reaches hitherto unimagined levels of tedium and patronising guff when the baddies are thwarted in their fiendishly complex plan by three children (Alan and his no-less-irritating chums), Lady Penelope, and Parker. These last two steal the film (for what it's worth) but even they cannot transcend its overwhelming stupidity. Starting out as a kick-ass vision in pink, Lady P ends as an embarrassing pantomime victim, locked into a cage with no difficulty whatsoever. No doubt the presence of three children in starring roles is an attempt to make the film appealing to the youngsters. The result, however, is to make the film unappealing to everyone. Sticking kids in a film like this is a sure sign of creative bankruptcy. Likewise, whose bright idea was it to sideline the machines and instead concentrate on a bland and unconvincing coming-of-age story? No, really, whose? The actors playing characters more convincingly realised thirty years ago by puppets are a disgrace. Ben Kingsley's finest moment comes when he utters the chillingly terrifying line, "See you soon... Jeff!" That he has to spit this out while being CARRIED by his henchman only makes his humiliation more complete. The henchman himself has to pretend to be incapacitated when children spray him with green goo. No child alive dreams of incapacitating henchmen by spraying them with green goo. They may dream of bisecting them with a lightsaber or karate-chopping them into the middle of next week, but they do not dream of spraying them with green goo. Only patronising film-makers think that they do, and that watching a scene in which this happens might in some way be entertaining. The script is a tired amalgamation of cliches, heart-warming homilies, bad jokes and laughable threats. It may sound like a complaint but actually it is meant as a compliment when I say that much of the dialogue is inaudible. When you can make out what the poor saps are saying, you just want to die. The good guys rarely get to shout anything more profound than "F.A.B" or "Look out!" while the bad guys are limited to "Mwah ha ha ha!" Huge amounts of money were no doubt spent on this disaster, but the film-makers ensure that the vast sets look as cheap and badly-lit as possible. Quite an achievement. The Thunderbirds themselves are impressive enough in all their computer-generated glory, but they lack the nutty charm of the originals, and they're not on screen for nearly long enough. In spite of all the technical expertise involved there is little imagination or originality on display. Even the theme tune has been watered down and made instantly forgettable rather than irresistibly catchy.
Thunderbirds contains nothing, not a single moment or image worth remembering, and yet, paradoxically, you might have a hard time forgetting its sheer awfulness. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Thunderbirds contains nothing, not a single moment or image worth remembering, and yet, paradoxically, you might have a hard time forgetting its sheer awfulness. Don't say I didn't warn you.