If the title is sincere, and this really is the final reckoning, then it’s been a franchise of two halves. Mission: Impossible diehards tend to underrate the first half (which ran from Brian De Palma’s brisk 1996 original to 2011’s fun Ghost Protocol) as much as they overrate the second (which launched with 2015’s Rogue Nation). Yet the rumbles and grumbles emanating from public screenings suggests a disgruntled consensus is forming around the concluding instalment: that this is an altogether disjointed way to resolve the affairs of Ethan Hunt and his IMF crew, and a shaky way to ignite the movie summer season. Ninety minutes in which nothing happens over and over again, followed by 70 minutes of M:I B-roll.
To better diagnose this latest glitch in the Hollywood machine, we need to return to the relighting of the fuse. This was the franchise to which Tom Cruise retreated in the wake of the commercial underperformance of 1999’s Eyes Wide Shut and Magnolia – the two most rigorous turns of this star’s career, films in which Cruise allowed himself to be rattled and be seen to be rattled, only to be met with widespread public and awards-circuit indifference. The Mission: Impossibles, by contrast, would be the sort of 4DX-coded sure thing for which audiences have routinely turned out, a creative safe space, even as the films’ constituent set pieces pushed their prime mover into performing ever riskier business to ensure bums on seats.
