‘Stardust’ a shrugable work of fantasy

“Stardust” is no better or worse than any other forgettable fantasy film you’ve ever seen, and that’s what makes it such a frustrating affair. For every true moment of magic—any enlightening moment that really enforces the idea that a magical world could be lurking just on the other side of that tall stone wall—there are about three scenes comprised entirely of sweeping crane shots over grassy, mountainous areas, accompanied by a booming orchestral score, not because they have any weight or meaning, but because I guess you expect them in a movie like this. It’s a fantasy movie, so it has be epic in every sense of the word. Swords are unsheathed and magical spells fly around like fireworks, but it’s hard to really find anything that can distinguish it from the umpteen other movies that share the same concepts (particularly in this post-“Lord of the Rings” world). It’s ultimately that generic, apathetic treatment that sinks this film.

The primary plot is really made up of a series of subplots, which crash into each other with such precise timing as to be melodic. As part of a ploy to determine which of his three (surviving) sons will serve as the heir to the throne, the King of Stormhold (the aforementioned magical world behind the stone wall) sends a magical ruby into the vast countryside—but, you see, it takes a detour into space, where it knocks a star out of orbit and onto our planet—and, as stars are wont to do, it takes the form of the lovely, naïve Yvaine (Claire Danes). Yvaine’s sudden appearance attracts the attention of Lamia (Michelle Pfieffer), an ancient witch whose youth can be restored by an anthropomorphic star’s glowing heart—so there’s your ready-made villain, right there. Finally, Tristan (Charlie Cox), your typical wet-behind-the-ears protagonist, finds himself accidentally transported to Yvaine’s side. Commence the insipid, “Moonlighting”/”Anything but Love” back-and-forth prattling as our heroes are stalked by Lamia and the King’s sinister son/secondary villain Septimus (Mark Strong) in the search for... well, whatever it is they search for in movies like this. The plot is fairly easy to follow, but I suspect that anyone can fill in the blanks for themselves easily enough.

Perhaps the most annoying aspect of “Stardust” can be found in its attempts at snarky irreverence, the kind of humor that is spoken with a quick tongue, but doesn’t have much of a bite behind it. Such annoyances are perhaps best described with the film’s various big-name stars in mind: Michelle Pfieffer has a bit of self-deprecating fun with the plight of aging Hollywood actresses, as her character regains her youth early in the film and “noticeably” ages with each passing scene—a clever, funny device which eventually overplays its hand after a groan-worthy drooping-breast gag. Meanwhile, as a secretly cross-dressing pirate captain, Robert De Niro has finally propelled himself into a chasm of self-parody from which he will never return. Has it already been 10 years since he first started to subvert his popular image of a tough-as-nails maniac? After “The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle”, “Analyze This” and “That”, and a dozen other such films, the joke has worn impossibly thin; to see him bounce around the screen as a mincing gay stereotype has no real consequence.

Admittedly, “Stardust” delivers a decidedly slam-bang finish, administering a wonderful directorial flair in how it introduces tragedies and dilemmas at breakneck speed (the most dire of which is a voodoo-controlled corpse, which flails around in a herky-jerky manner that may be the creepiest sight in recent cinematic memory), resulting in something genuinely exciting. In the process, it dares to subtly suggest that the bad guys are not without compassion, that their villainous antics are merely the product of an all-too-understandable matter of overcompensation and self-doubt. It very nearly excuses (and even gives credence to) a lot of the bland familiarity that we’ve just witnessed for the last two hours.

But for want of a properly dramatic ending, “Stardust” relies on one final deus ex machina, reducing any hint at complexity into easy-to-digest capsules of good and evil, finishing it all off with the unquestionable triumph of the former. Boy becomes a man, finds true love, et cetera. Do I have a phobia for happy endings? Of course not—but “Stardust” just seems like a tease of the cruelest variety. Imagine, a film that dares to dig a little deeper into the inner workings of its characters—then tosses it all away a second later in the name of worn-out storybook tradition.