Doctor Strange

I went with the beloved offspring to see Doctor Strange yesterday. I’m probably not qualified to write a real review, since I don’t read comic books and had never heard of the character of Doctor Strange before. But I thought I would jot down a few notes, since there were, as it turned out, a few things of note.

This was supposed to be just Dad service. I’m not optimistic about movies based on comic books (this one is extruded from the Marvel universe). So you’ll understand that I was a bit taken aback to be confronted with actual quality. I quickly put my prejudices back on the shelf and enjoyed the show.

The visual pyrotechnics really are entertaining. A bit chaotic and confusing at times, but undeniably great fun to watch. We’re all jaded by effects, but there was enough imagination and craft here to create a spectacle that was genuinely fresh and arresting.

We were watching it in “Imax” 3D; I think it would have been better in old-fashioned 2D. First, because, as Roger Ebert pointed out, 2D is generally brighter and looks better. Second, the 3D effect seemed to do strange things to the, or at least my, perception of the relative sizes of objects, at times making the actors appear too small, or producing an effect like the “miniature” filter sometimes used to make photographs of real scenes look like pictures of models.

I wish to comment on two of the actors. The star, Mr. Cumberbatch, had a surprise for us: an American accent, and neither the voice of a dragon nor an eccentric London detective. The timbre slightly thinned out and the pitch raised, as if he were subtly constricting his larynx. In fact, there was something familiar about the voice, the intonation, and some of the vocal mannerisms, that left me convinced that the star had carefully studied the performances of another English actor who slipped into an American accent to play a doctor in an American hospital.

Once you hear it, you can’t un-hear it. And what is most distracting is that the film suffers from the comparison. Mr. Cumberbatch is a fine actor, but, at least in this movie, he displays none of the genius that Hugh Laurie brought to every episode of House. The vocal mannerisms force the comparison on the brain, and make B.C.’s acting seem uninspired. Fans who might have been hoping to see Sherlock with magic powers will be disappointed.

But then there is Chiwetel Ejiofor (yes, I had to look up the spelling). He’s certainly one of the finest actors in the movies today, and the director allows him freedom enough to remind us of this in several scenes. Mr. Ejiofor is mesmerizing, his serene, enigmatic exterior suddenly parting to allow the violent eruption of a passion that seems utterly sincere. He may be the best thing about this movie.

There are problems. We must suffer a certain amount of what some people call “orientalism,” and be encouraged to take such things as acupuncture too seriously. These things are not alternative ways of knowing, but just arbitrary superstitions. However, Tilda Swinton’s convincing performance almost makes us want to believe, although her title, the Sorcerer Supreme, sounds a bit too much like a frozen dessert.

This turns out to be easy to forgive, as one of the best things about this film is its wit, which effortlessly rises above what passes for humor in a typical offering in this genre. I believe I chuckled out loud twice, maybe three times, which is extraordinary.

In short, solid entertainment. Don’t forget to wait through the complete end credits (which include a “physiotherapist”).