The last installment of Atlas Shrugged III: Never Mind Who John Galt Is, Where The Hell Is The Audience? has been released.
Whatcha’ guys think of it?:
We get it, we get it: Capitalism is good, government is bad.
But “Atlas Shrugged: Who Is John Galt?” is worse.
The third film in the trilogy based on Ayn Rand’s novel once again — as it has for all of the movies — recast almost all the roles and swapped directors. Evidently James Manera, who also contributed to the screenplay, was hired for his complete and utter lack of subtlety.
Nice hammer, dude. Whack me over the head again, would you?
The sex scene almost makes it worth sitting through Atlas Shrugged III, the last and least of the cheapjack adaptations of Ayn Rand’s brick-thick celebration of taking your ball and going home. About an hour in, after she’s toured and left the hidden Colorado enclave of the captains of industry who have “gone Galt” and dropped out of our ungrateful society, heroine Dagny Taggart (Laura Regan) faces one of the great train-scheduling crises that are forever cocking up life in Rand’s retro-future choo-choo America.
The pre-coital drama plays like a story problem from homeschool math class: Facing a food shortage, the useless East Coast needs trains full of grain from the heartland, but the corrupt federal government has nationalized the railroads. (Thanks, N0bummer!) Meanwhile, a signal failure cripples train service throughout the famed Taggart Terminal, and only Taggart Transcontinental Chief Operating Officer Dagny has the smarts/gumption to straighten the situation out. How to get the trains through? Displaying the sort of genius that the gifted too often allow their lessers to benefit from, Dagny dispatches workers bearing lanterns to signal to oncoming trains, an idea that apparently could have occurred to no other living person.
One of the workers, the sexy un-impoverished-looking one, catches her eye. It’s John Galt (Kristoffer Polaha), the Harlequin Romance hunk who runs that VIP colony in the Rockies and has also invented a magic energy source that he won’t share with the world because he hates minimum-wage laws. He’s flirted with Dagny before, back in the log-homes and farmers’ markets of his free-market paradise, but only now do they admit their attraction. They sneak off together, bodies a-throb with the excitement of transportation-system management, and the movie is briefly wonderful. After some 30 seconds of close-ups of backs and bras and lips, Atlas Shrugs III cuts from the coupling to the funniest thing that it possibly could: one of those lantern-bearing signalmen actually guiding a train into a tunnel.
When a franchise’s acting, directing, writing, cinematography, effects and music are this terrible, utter lack of competence trumps political ideology
To find fault with the “Atlas Shrugged” franchise because of its politics is like complaining about “Birdemic” because it gets the ornithology wrong. Why dwell on the details when there are giant, embarrassing flaws staring you in the face?