This Career Will Self Destruct in 3 Films....

So it would appear that belonging to a cult and acting like a deranged escapee from the mental ward can impact your ability to fill theater seats. In some ways, I suppose, it’s nice to know that people still have some standards. In another sense it’s nostalgically sad to see the guy I remember singing “Old Time Rock ‘N Roll" in his underwear flaming out in such tragic fashion. One gets the sense that Tom Cruise is entering the final phase of what will be an embarrassing and dramatic downfall. Gone is the fun and spunky young guy from Risky Business and here to stay is the brain washed, cult loving lunatic that is at times pompous and at others simply maniacal.

Mission: Impossible 3 has so far performed far below industry expectations and is showing no signs of being the blockbuster it’s $150 million dollar budget would demand it be. Opening weekend numbers, originally estimated over $48 million, were revised downward on Monday to $47 million in actual sales. Monday’s performance at the box office was an alarming $3.5 million, down a whopping 72 percent from it’s opening numbers. That’s a drop of near historic proportions. In comparison, Spiderman 2 dropped only 57% from its opening weekend to its first Monday and Batman Begins dropped only 26%. To truly be a success Mission: Impossible 3 would have had to outperform both.

What’s truly unfortunate is that tied to Cruise’s antics at the worst moments of their careers are Phillip Seymour Hoffman, fresh from an Academy Award, and writer of the hit show Lost, J. J. Abrams. Abrams is also responsible for a little known film with a cultish following called Joy Ride, created the show Felicity and wrote the screenplay for Armageddon and Regarding Henry.

Now, the movie really isn’t that bad. Legendary and large film critic Roger Ebert said it had a “been there done that” feel to it, and he’s right. However, with really no alternatives in the box office the film is a fun ride. Hoffman’s performance, in my opinion, has been a little over-hyped, he’s not really given that many chances to shine as he’s off screen as much as on it, but he’s still excellent. Cruise is good but he is certainly lacking something.

Quick, who’s Ethan Hunt? Right.

What Cruise has failed to do is transform this character into one we really clamor to see more of. Everyone wanted to see where Harrison Ford could take Indiana Jones, what Sean Connery would make out of James Bond, so they continued on to be great franchises. In fact, just about every actor that has played James Bond has turned him into something interesting and curious. Cruise has not had that kind of relationship with his character; instead we go to see stunts, shootouts, car chases, CGI, but not the character. Even action movies, dependent as they are on explosions, must center around compelling characters to survive into 2 or 3 movies. To be fair the writers share the blame, but Cruise hasn’t given Hunt that special spark that begs for more development. Mission Impossible would be just as interesting if the next film featured a different character and a different actor—they’re completely replaceable and that’s the death knell for any action franchise.

The only new element in this installment is the question of whether Hunt can be married, lead a normal life and have a wife forever in the dark as to his real persona. The problem: That’s nothing new, James Bond addressed that issue many, many times and countless action and cop flicks have used that weak premise as a springboard for getting the character “back in action” one more time. And of course, the new bride to be is put in great peril by the characters choice of careers. That’s a given. And boring. It’s the kind of movie Mr. And Mrs. Smith was created to make fun of.

The appeal to the film is really an adolescent one. It’s the Cody Banks factor that Mr. and Mrs. Smith exaggerated and satirized. It’s the teenager in all of us that wants to be something spectacular that draws men to this kind of premise. Maybe it’s a guy thing but we can relate to a Cody Banks who lives an exciting double life and Oh! Won’t his classmates be impressed when they find out who he really is. It’s the guy in all of us that wants to turn to a beautiful woman like Keri Russel and say “I don’t really count traffic patterns or balance spreadsheets all day. I carry a gun, blow up buildings and play round in international espionage.” It’s trying to imagine being, like Brad Pitt in Mr. And Mrs. Smith, or Frankie Munoz in Cody Banks, so cool and confident that you could actually not boast about being a super agent and could be content letting people think you’re mundane when you aren’t.

You might not admit this guys, but this movie is for all of you that day dream on the way to work in the morning when the latest and greatest rock band is on the radio, you transform yourselves into the drummer or lead singer and see the crowd roaring before you and the pyrotechnics booming behind you. And then you pull into the parking garage and go about the business of counting paper clips all day. Remember when you were young and you closed your eyes and saw yourself throwing that last second touchdown in the Super Bowl? You were Joe Montana for a minute there. This movie is aimed at you, so you can fantasize about turning to your girlfriend and telling her you’re not an average joe, you’re dangerous and exciting.

It’s a primal adolescent appeal—unfortunately this film doesn’t do anything different with that. It recycles the same cliché and leaves it so it’s more an excuse to get Tom Cruise to leap from a building than it is an integral part of the plot. The Cody Banks factor can only go so far.

If you want some cool stunts and some mindless action, take this ride, it’s still fun. If you were hoping that the biggest new gadget wouldn’t be yet another latex mask and you still want to daydream yourself into a secret agent, and there’s nothing wrong with that, find something else. The next few weeks will give you plenty of alternatives and by summers end Mission: Impossible 3 will be that big disappointment that no one remembers.