2016’s Alice Through the Looking Glass arrived with all the confidence of a film that assumes you’ll be dazzled into submission, and all the substance of a screensaver. What should have been a whimsical return to Wonderland instead feels like a contractual obligation stretched to feature length. Even worse, it somehow takes a world built on imagination and renders it aggressively dull.
For three years, Alice Kingsleigh (Mia Wasikowska) has been off living a far more interesting movie, captaining a ship across the China Sea and pulling off manoeuvres that would make seasoned naval officers question their life choices. In her opening scene, she threads a full-rigged vessel through jagged rocks while being chased by pirates, because apparently physics and basic maritime hierarchy took the day off. Her crew, a group of men who in any historical context would mutiny before lunch, instead follow her with unwavering loyalty. Tragically, this is not a dream sequence, which raises uncomfortable questions about why the film’s most engaging material exists purely to be abandoned.
“Has anyone seen Jack Sparrow?”
Returning to London, Alice discovers that her ex-fiancé, Hamish Ascot (Leo Bill), has taken control of his late father’s company and now wants her ship in exchange for not rendering her and her mother (Lindsay Duncan) homeless. This subplot lands with all the urgency of paperwork. It exists purely to shove Alice back toward Wonderland, which she enters by following a butterfly (Alan Rickman) through a mirror, because wanting to go there simply isn’t motivation enough. Once back, she finds her old companions hosting what can only be described as a collective emotional breakdown, centred on the Mad Hatter (Johnny Depp), who has decided his long-dead family might still be alive.
Johnny Depp, more annoying than mad.
Alice attempts to apply logic, which in this universe is treated like a hate crime. When she dares to say something is impossible, the Hatter spirals further, declaring she isn’t “his Alice” and beginning a slow theatrical shutdown. The White Queen (Anne Hathaway), who continues to float through scenes like a sentient porcelain doll, sends Alice to consult Time (Sacha Baron Cohen), an entity who explicitly tells her that altering the past is impossible and will destroy everything. Naturally, Alice responds by stealing the Chronosphere, the device controlling all time, because nothing says “hero” like ignoring the one rule that keeps reality intact.
“I should introduce you to Marty McFly.”
What follows is a time-hopping detour through events nobody asked to revisit, including the Red Queen’s (Helena Bonham Carter) origin story, which reveals her oversized head is the result of both a childhood accident and a lifetime of bad emotional processing. Alice becomes convinced she can fix everything by changing one moment from the past, despite repeated warnings that this is a catastrophically bad idea. Meanwhile, Time spends most of the film desperately trying to stop her from breaking existence, which ironically makes him the closest thing the story has to a responsible adult.
“I don’t need to be mature, I’m the protagonist.”
The film briefly detours into an asylum subplot when Alice is institutionalized for talking about Wonderland, a sequence that serves no purpose other than to toss in a reference to “female hysteria” and pad the film’s running time. It is introduced, resolved, and immediately forgotten, suggesting even the script lost interest halfway through. Eventually, Alice returns to Wonderland, discovers the Hatter’s family was never dead but merely captured and shrunk into an ant farm, because anything remotely sensible was not invited.
At what point are we supposed to care for any of this?
In the climax, paradoxes are triggered, characters begin rusting into oblivion, and all of Wonderland collapses because Alice did exactly what she was told not to do. She narrowly resets time at the last second, saving everyone and facing zero consequences for nearly destroying reality. The Hatter reunites with his family, the White Queen apologizes for a childhood lie that apparently shaped the entire conflict, and Alice returns home to start a shipping company with her mother, because the film suddenly remembers it began as a business drama, while bravely ignoring the facts of this era.
“Have you forgotten that this is bloody London in 1875?”
Stray Observations:
- Alice commanding a loyal crew of hardened sailors like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Either she’s the greatest leader in maritime history or everyone onboard lost a bet.
- Alan Rickman’s final film role is as a butterfly leading Alice back into chaos. The man deserved better, and somehow still brings more dignity to this than the script ever manages.
- Alice proudly claims she can believe six impossible things before breakfast, yet the moment the Hatter suggests his family might be alive, she suddenly becomes the world’s leading authority on realism. Consistency clearly did not make the journey through the looking glass.
- “You can’t change the past.” Fair enough. “But you can absolutely shatter the fabric of time and existence.” Solid rules, no notes.
- The time travel detour gives us younger versions of the characters, because nothing says compelling storytelling like turning everyone into Muppet Babies.
- Hollywood’s unstoppable urge to explain everything. Mystery? Gone. Imagination? Also gone. But hey, now we know why the Red Queen has a big head, so that’s…something.
- The asylum subplot appears, does its damage, and vanishes like a bad dream no one wants to discuss.
- The Hatter’s family being alive completely undercuts the emotional stakes the film pretends to build.
- Characters act shocked when paradoxes happen after deliberately creating paradoxes. Did this film even have a screenwriter?
- The White Queen apparently forgets she commands an army and instead opts for the classic strategy of “let’s all just run over there ourselves and see what happens.”
“Military aid is for losers.”
The film’s biggest issue is that it mistakes noise for imagination. Lewis Carroll’s work thrives on playful nonsense, but here everything is overexplained, overdesigned, and emotionally hollow. The time travel element reduces Wonderland to a checklist of backstory revelations, none of which deepen the characters in any meaningful way. Instead of embracing chaos, the film tries to impose structure, and in doing so, drains the setting of its identity. It’s like watching a theme park attraction pause every five minutes to explain how the rides were built, completely missing why anyone showed up in the first place.
A place defined by absurd logic somehow becomes predictable.
Visually, the film is a downgrade from its predecessor. Where the first movie at least had striking imagery to distract from its narrative issues, this one feels oddly flat and synthetic. The environments blur together into a digital haze, lacking the distinctiveness needed to make Wonderland feel like a place worth revisiting. It resembles a very expensive screen saver that forgot to include anything memorable beyond the fact that it’s constantly in motion. When even the spectacle feels tired, there’s not much left to cling to.
How much CGI noise can one put up with?
The cast fares little better. Mia Wasikowska seems stranded, playing a protagonist whose decisions make less sense the longer the film continues. Johnny Depp, who was already pushing the limits of tolerable in the previous film, escalates his performance into full-blown irritation, turning the Hatter into a hyperactive distraction rather than a character. Anne Hathaway leans harder into exaggerated mannerisms, while Helena Bonham Carter does what she can with material that reduces her to a punchline. Sacha Baron Cohen emerges as the unexpected highlight, largely because he appears to understand he’s in a different movie and chooses to play it with a hint of grounded frustration.
“I’ll see you on Fleet Street, Mister Todd.”
In conclusion, Alice Through the Looking Glass is a rare kind of failure: a fantasy film that forgets how to be imaginative. It replaces curiosity with exposition, whimsy with noise, and emotional stakes with empty spectacle. What should have been a playful return to a beloved world instead feels like a hollow echo, assembled without any clear reason to exist beyond brand recognition. Even by the already questionable standards of live-action remakes, this one struggles to justify its own presence
No comments:
Post a Comment