The Jungle Book
‘…or, How The Walt Disney Co turned me into a bilious hatemonger’
Jon Favreau cannot direct actors, conceive an effective shot or establish mood. Justin Marks cannot develop a character, write dialogue or tell an interesting story. Sarah Finn has no idea whom is appropriate for a given role. John Debney is a hack whose derivative and heartless score can’t manufacture emotional involvement. Neel Sethi, please never act again.
Neel, I know your lines were expositional subtext-free excrement and Jon told you just to shout in monotone, but your performance is so vacant and your characterisation so unsympathetic that the only thing stopping me from walking out was a vain hope that Shere Khan might tear off your face and prove the existence of something inside you. Describing what is happening to you, Neel, is not the same as pretending to have feelings. You make Keanu Reeves look like Laurence f’ing Olivier.
Oh, and Jon, no amount of effort from the incredible army of visual artists and stellar voice casts can disguise this steaming bolus of excrement. King Louie as Colonel Kurtz-meets-King Kong? Give me a break. You just dug up and joyously violated the still-warm remains of a classic. Shame – shame on you. And all the critics who seem clearly to have lost the plot.