In 1998, Gus Van Sant infamously directed a shot-for-shot remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, which confirmed the pointlessness of strict adaptation fidelity. Disney has spent the past decade-plus demonstrating that it didn’t learn that lesson.
While a few of its live-action re-dos of its animated hits have been passable (Cinderella, Lilo & Stitch), most have proved depressingly redundant—which is precisely the way to describe the latest addition to this ignoble line-up, Moana.
Arriving less than 10 years after the premiere of its beloved source material, Thomas Kail’s rehash (July 10, in theaters) is as purposeless as big-screen summer spectaculars get—a would-be blockbuster driven purely by financial concerns and incapable of capturing its forerunner’s buoyant spirit.
Identical to Disney’s 2016 feature in virtually every respect, it’s an endeavor designed solely to motivate kids to bug their parents into ponying up for something they’ve already seen—only this time in a more plodding, perfunctory form.
Despite the participation of an awkwardly bewigged Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as Polynesian demigod Maui—a character he voiced in the original—Moana is a punier version of its forebear, duplicating everything except its jaunty verve. Kail’s feature only strays from its prescribed path when it cuts corners, excising numerous throwaway gags as part of its more straightforward, stolid storytelling approach.
The result is a decided lack of energy, with each performance more stilted, each set piece more mannered, than the ones upon which they’re dutifully modeled.
There isn’t a single meaningful new artistic decision in Moana, as Kail (making his feature directorial debut after helming Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Broadway hits Hamilton and In the Heights) and screenwriters Jared Bush and Dana Ledoux Miller merely repeat every beat of the prior film.
That makes it perhaps the most unadventurous of Disney’s numerous double-dips. Worse, though, is the consistent lethargy of its plagiarism, be it musical numbers that fail to soar, high-seas sequences undone by lousy digital effects, or a narrative that eschews risks—or even minor alterations—like the plague. From top to bottom, it’s a wan facsimile that pales in comparison to its predecessor.
Like the animated version, Moana begins 1,000 years ago with the shapeshifting demigod Maui stealing the heart of nature goddess Te Fiti and inadvertently bringing about a blight that threatens the island of Motunui. There, Chief Tui (John Tui) preaches to his daughter Moana (newcomer Catherine Laga’aia) that the key to happiness and safety is to stay at home and never venture beyond the treacherous reef. No matter how much he insists, however, Moana is drawn to the water, and it to her, as evidenced by a childhood incident in which the ocean communes with her—and almost gives her the heart of Te Fiti.
Moana’s yearning to escape her aquatic kingdom regardless of her ruler father’s objections is reminiscent of The Little Mermaid, and when Motunui’s coconuts go bad and its fish supply dries up—and Moana discovers, courtesy of her grandmother Tala (Rena Owen), that her ancestors were intrepid voyagers—she sets out to save the day by finding Maui and convincing him to return the heart of Te Fiti to the goddess.
The problem is, Maui is an arrogant, selfish blowhard who wants no part of this mission, although he and Moana eventually become partners whose initial bickering gives way to understanding, compassion, and friendship.
From start to finish, Moana is a cover song devoid of its precursor’s soul. Laga’aia is functionally cute and bold, yet she’s habitually stranded standing in place in Kail’s frame, thereby rendering her a smiling, singing stick figure.
Johnson is granted a few more opportunities to, you know, move, but he, too, comes across as stiff and affected, not to mention adorned in animated tattoos that are exactly the same as those found in the original film.
Speaking of which, Moana’s dim-bulb chicken sidekick Heihei and pet pig Pua (and their signature gags) are photocopies of their earlier selves, as is giant treasure-loving crab Tamatoa, who’s again voiced, without significant modification, by Flight of the Conchords’ Jemaine Clement.
Moana stars flesh-and-blood humans and yet invariably employs CGI to bring its tale to life. Consequently, myriad passages are lifted verbatim from the earlier film, such as the finale’s showdown between Moana and the fiery demon Te Kā.
Mark Mancina, Lin-Manuel Miranda, and Opetaia Foa’i’s songs are performed with moderate feeling. Alas, without the sweeping, elastically expressive animated visuals that first accompanied them, they don’t land with equal impact. That’s similarly true of the drama’s emotions, which are muted by colorful aesthetics that are light on genuine vivacity.
Johnson’s turn is perhaps the most interesting aspect of Moana, simply because its slower tempo and less cartoony tone suggest that the actor forgot what originally made Maui such an enjoyable character. A sterner and duller take, it highlights the fundamental problem with this undertaking (and the kindred ones that preceded it)—namely, that it’s impossible to properly imitate the physicality, pace, or exuberance of hand-drawn and computer-generated imagery.
That Kail often painstakingly recreates memorable sights just underlines the folly of the entire enterprise, and that’s without even taking into account the clunky unattractiveness of its artificial oceanic backdrops.
Moana is as creatively empty as any film in the modern Disney canon, not because it’s been constructed without talent (its below-the-line craftsmanship is occasionally sturdy) but because it has no care for ingenuity or daring. Its lone imperative is to avoid rocking the boat lest it upset the fervent Mouse House faithful. However, in doing so, it guarantees—as did the live-action Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and Snow White—its immediate obsolescence.
In all likelihood, it’ll earn a ton of money at the domestic box office, thereby justifying to the bean counters the wisdom of returning to the studio well (or is that vault?).
Still, it’s nearly impossible to imagine anyone watching this reproduction twice, much less preferring it to its popular progenitor. At the story’s end, Moana may come to understand who she is, but this hollow affair ultimately has no identity of its own.
