Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle Review: A Thoroughly Pleasant Surprise
Roger Ebert didn’t care much for the original Jumanji, a Robin Williams vehicle that made a mint in ..
Roger Ebert didn’t care much for the original Jumanji, a Robin Williams vehicle that made a mint in 1995. His biggest objection was to the film’s flimsy structure, which seemed based not on cinematic narrative, but simplistic video games: “There is little attempt to construct a coherent story,” he wrote in his one-and-a-half star review. “Instead, the characters face one threat after another, as new and grotesque dangers jump at them.”
How appropriate, then, that Jake Kasdan’s updated version (subtitled Welcome to the Jungle, and opening December 20) would tweak the first movie’s premise—two kids stumble upon a magic board game, which spits out jungle-related perils and a bearded Williams—by transforming the creaky, wooden Jumanji into an immersive R.P.G. Instead of sassy little Kirsten Dunst and Bradley Pierce, the unwitting players are members of a motley high-school breakfast club—a brain (Alex Wolff), a princess (Madison Iseman), a jock (Ser’Darius Blain), and a loner (Morgan Turner)—who discover a mysterious 16-bit Jumanji cartridge while serving detention. Rather than wreaking havoc on the real world, this Jumanji sucks its victims into the game itself; the foursome will be freed only when, and if, they beat its final level.
All of this sounds rote, and it is. But the new Jumanji is also a lot of fun, thanks largely to the unexpectedly smart script’s most clever twist: upon arriving in the titular jungle, the teens vanish, replaced by their amusingly incongruous game avatars. Nerdy Spencer is transported into the body of Dr. Smolder Bravestone—half superhero, half Indiana Jones, all Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Selfish athlete Fridge is now diminutive Franklin “Moose” Finbar (Kevin Hart), a second banana with a dorky hat and a bottomless backpack. Awkward Martha has become Ruby Roundhouse, a warrior with the abs of Lara Croft and the welcome presence of Karen Gillan. (Yes, the outfit she’s forced to wear—which inspired an online outcry in 2016—is ridiculously skimpy. Yes, that’s meant to be a meta-joke about the way video games sexualize female characters. But the movie also never lets her change into something a little more jungle-appropriate.)
Instagram-obsessed Bethany seems to have the rawest deal of all: she goes from blonde beauty to middle-aged male schlub, in the form of a cartographer played by Jack Black. That plot point alone is enough to put a conscientious moviegoer on high alert—for sexist jabs, for gay panic, for the kind of smug, lazy humor that characterized that other 2017 action comedy based on a property from the 90s and starring The Rock.
Yet—and I can’t believe I’m about to say this—Black’s sensitive portrayal of a teenage girl doesn’t just avoid mincing minstrelsy; it actually ends up being the highlight of the movie. Generally speaking, that’s the vibe of this new Jumanji: appealing, well-meaning, unexpectedly endearing. It took four credited screenwriters to dream up the punch lines that Johnson, Black, Gillan, and most of all Hart deliver with ease, but the story never feels disjointed or overstuffed. The dialogue can be cheesy and obvious, but in a way that inspires affection, not derision—even when someone onscreen is reiterating, yet again, that Johnson sure is strong, and handsome, and capable. (As in any video game, each avatar comes with his or her own pre-established strengths and flaws—except Bravestone, who literally has no weaknesses.) In an era when crowd-pleasing entertainment tends to veer in one of two directions—hyperactive nonsense built to drive adults batty or ponderous, or comic-book-inspired blockbusters that are too scary and intense for actual children—this movie is something of an outlier: a genuine example of old-fashioned, four-quadrant entertainment. At least, as long as you don’t mind your kids hearing the occasional swear word or dick joke, which crop up thanks to Bethany’s predicament. (I had a feeling those screenwriters would all be men, and I was right; only a man would assume all teenage girls are this fascinated and awed by penises.)
Like most of the family-friendly comedies Robin Williams made in the 90s, the first Jumanji is a lot darker than you may remember. Dunst and Pierce’s plucky kid characters are recently orphaned; Williams plays a man who was sucked into Jumanji as an adolescent and emerges after 26 years, only to find his house a wreck and his parents dead. The new Jumanji is a lot springier, though it does feature a bad guy perhaps built to haunt elementary schoolers’ dreams: the antagonist of the game, a possessed adventurer (Bobby Cannavale, wearing enough eyeliner to make Khal Drogo jealous) who’s always got bugs slithering into and out of his various orifices.
Mostly, though, the film strikes a nice balance between serviceable, not-overly-slick action scenes—we’ve come a long way from those shoddily animated monkeys—and comedy that’s actually rooted in character, rather than cheap references or stereotypes. What’s more, instead of reducing everyone but Johnson to sidekick or love-interest status, the story gives all four of its main characters predictable, but legitimate arcs. That’s an impressive feat for a movie most likely made for cynical reasons—one that’s not just unobjectionable, but outright enjoyable. Hart and Johnson’s George-and-Lennie chemistry crackles; Gillan’s ass-kicking is thoroughly satisfying; Black’s understated line readings and perfect timing will make you wish he’d ditch Kung Fu Panda sequels for more live-action roles. There are surprise cameos, and sweet first kisses, and exchanges that pass the Bechdel test. The movie even has enough restraint to avoid setting up a sequel—and to resist actually playing Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” until the moment its end credits begin to roll. What a pleasant surprise.
Get Vanity Fair’s HWD NewsletterSign up for essential industry and award news from Hollywood.Full ScreenPhotos:See Kathleen Kennedy’s Behind-the-Scenes The Last Jedi PhotosHillary BusisHillary Busis is the Hollywood editor at VanityFair.com. Previously, she was an editor at Mashable and at Entertainment Weekly. She lives in Brooklyn, just like everyone else.
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