In the Lost Lands Is So Metal It Hurts

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Paul W.S. Anderson’s “In the Lost Lands” seems unlike anything I’ve previously encountered. It incorporates aspects reminiscent of post-apocalyptic settings – desolate, smoky landscapes, decaying urban cityscapes, and colossal mines teeming with faceless, chanting mobs akin to “Mad Max: Fury Road”. Yet, it also weaves in elements typical of medieval fantasy, such as cowboys, witches, werewolves, and gigantic skeleton monsters. The amalgamation is fascinating, but what truly stands out about the movie is the storybook-like quality that Anderson imbues into each scene. There’s a touch of video game fantasy present too, but what unfolds on screen feels more immersive and primal. Each frame appears as if it were plucked from a cursed tome of twisted, postmodern fairy tales, the images ominous and slightly abstract. This strange, detached ambiance is deliberate. Anderson frequently transitions to a map, showing us the characters’ progress – a technique he also employed in the “Resident Evil” series – and he uses an onscreen steampunk clock face to indicate time until the next full moon. The entire production is remarkably surreal. One might be tempted to get lost within it.

This filmmaker, Anderson, is known for his intense, raw action sequences, often infusing ordinary stories with an electrifying sense of danger and brutality. Unlike many other modern blockbusters, his films are not shy about violence, as seen in the Resident Evil series filled with grotesque zombies, lasers reducing characters to pulp, or the sci-fi thriller Event Horizon (1997) that provides chilling glimpses into a nightmarish realm. His 2014 disaster film, Pompeii, may appear as a period piece from afar, but it stands out with its brutal depiction of destruction, both characters and locations being annihilated with a sadistic glee. Some critics find fault in his work, given the low Tomatometer ratings, but I find his movies to be more emotionally impactful than the sanitized violence prevalent in many contemporary blockbusters. To some, this opinion may seem blasphemous, but he reminds me of Samuel Fuller with his direct approach and straightforward presentation of events.

In the realm known as the Forgotten Lands, there’s an abundance of combat, yet its intricate, almost hand-painted depiction softens the brutality somewhat. It’s a timeless tale of adventure, centered around Gray Alys (portrayed by Milla Jovovich, who is both the director’s spouse and muse), a solitary and potent witch with the unique ability to grant any wish. With sad eyes and clenched teeth, she murmurs, “I deny no one,” hinting at the potential for more sorrow and disaster following the granted wishes. In what appears to be the last human settlement beneath a mountain, the Queen (Amara Okereke) approaches Gray Alys with a request for werewolf powers. Meanwhile, Jerais (Simon Lööf), the Queen’s faithful guard and lover, covertly asks for her failure in this quest. Gray Alys grants both wishes and embarks on a journey to find a guide through the Forgotten Lands, where she intends to locate the werewolf. To aid her, she recruits Boyce (Dave Bautista), a taciturn mercenary with a Sergio Leone-esque scowl and a gun that discharges snakes. (Cinematic!) They are pursued by a band of contemporary Crusader knights led by the Enforcer (Arly Jover), who serves under the deceitful church leader, the Patriarch (Fraser James), aiming to overthrow the Queen.

The main focus of the film isn’t just the complex court politics, but rather the developing relationship between Gray Alys and Boyce. Although some action sequences might appear brief or hurried, Anderson seems to prioritize the deepening connection between these characters. I believe this is due to his emphasis on their bond over grandiose action scenes, which may be limited by budget constraints compared to filmmakers like James Cameron or Tom Cruise. However, within the enchanting, straightforward atmosphere of this story, it all seems perfectly fitting.

The atmosphere evoked by Gray Alys and Boyce’s journey is a somber one, fitting for the mixed environment of their setting. Typically, quest stories are driven by optimism, excitement – characters seek something they deeply cherish or that will rescue them or their comrades. However, in this tale, we follow two dismal, isolated, distrustful figures, hunting for something neither truly desires, across the devastated remnants of our world, pursued by a bizarre band of contemporary knights under the control of a kingdom steeped in deceit. The film’s tone is unremittingly grim, yet this somehow draws us into appreciating the dilapidated charm of its universe, where it’s either night or twilight, and everything is damaged but nothing seems beyond repair. We become immersed in the haunted train tracks and monstrous figures under moonlight, the broken reactors and flaming hills and rivers filled with skulls. It’s all so grimly poetic it’s painful.

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2025-03-06 19:59