Movie Review: "Men In Black: International" Is Just Not Gross Enough

Tessa Thompson’s great, but Men In Black: International just isn’t good—or gross—enough to earn any space in your memory.

In the new Men In Black movie, two shapeless alien spectres melt an unsuspecting man to take his form, in duplicate. As they walk off in replicas of his body to cause more mischief, they leave behind a bubbling mass of flesh and viscera. "Now we’re cooking," I thought, wrongly.

I had hoped that Men In Black: International would recapture the tangible, disgusting, hilarious grossness of the 1997 original starring Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones. Nope. There’s nothing else in this latest chunk of franchise-extender to grab hold of; nothing as delightfully icky as Vincent D’Onofrio’s cockroach villain in his decaying skin suit. (Witness the act of genius.) Incoming director F. Gary Gray miscalculates by thinking the secret to this series’ success is simply chic suits and characters in Ray Bans, when really, we’re here for exploding aliens drenching our heroes in space gunk.

It helps if the heroes have chemistry, of course, and our newly-debuted agents Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson certainly had it in Thor: Ragnarok. Seems like they were struck with a memory-wiping Neuralyser between shoots. Thompson fares best in her MIB introduction, as a savvy conspiracy-theorist who learns about the secretive alien-policing agency of the title and busts into their New York headquarters seeking a job. She convinces Agent O (Emma Thompson) to train her up, and she’s soon shipped off, as Agent M, for an assignment in London. There, M gravitates to Hemsworth’s reckless, rusty H, who’s been coasting on the credit from a previous world-saving adventure with his mentor High T (Liam Neeson). Hemsworth proved in Ragnarok he has comedic chops, and Men In Black: International proves it helps if the dialogue is already funny as written. His smile alone cannot salvage the screenplay.

This globe-spanning instalment, scripted by Art Marcum and Matt Holloway, involves H & M attempting to find a mole within the organisation, and the mole’s identity will neither be surprising, nor are their motives clearly explained. H & M are at least joined on this wheel-spinning journey by the flick’s saving grace, a miniature alien sentry they christen Pawny. When his queen is slain, Pawny quickly changes allegiance to Agent M. He’s voiced by Kumail Nanjiani, who earns the unique honour of delivering the only comedic lines that land. Though, Rebecca Ferguson comes closest as the sultry Riza, a three-armed arms-dealer. (Oh, I literally just got that. And that also demonstrates the 'first-idea, best-idea' approach to the overly computer generated creature designs.)

It does make sense to try and revivify this 20-year-old franchise, itself based on Lowell Cunningham’s oddball comic. The universe it suggests is endless (even if the first film revealed it fits inside a galactic marble). And Hemsworth and Thompson are both extremely likable, even when the material surrounding them is lacking. However, too often Men In Black: International feels like an excuse to demonstrate CGI advancement rather than recapture what made the series special to begin with. If it wasn't going to rain alien guts, it could at least offer a scene as revealing, empathetic, emotional or understated as this simple exchange between Smith and Jones from Men in Black. It does not.

In that same scene linked above, Smith’s character is shell-shocked to learn there’s evidence of intelligent life in outer space. We’re still looking for that evidence in Men In Black: International.

2.5/5

In Australian cinemas now. Rated M for science fiction themes and violence.