Movie reviews: 'Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings' has heroics, heart, and humour

This image released by Marvel Studios shows Tony Leung, left, and Fala Chen in a scene from "Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings." (Marvel Studios via AP)

SHANG-CHI AND THE LEGEND OF THE TEN RINGS: 4 STARS

“Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings,” the latest addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe and now playing in theatres, is a rarity. It’s a superhero origin movie that doesn’t suck. They haven’t all been terrible, but I still feel the burn of “Fantastic Four,” “Green Hornet” and “Catwoman” whenever I hear the dreaded ‘origin story’ descriptor.

But “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” doesn’t suck. It is a stand-alone origin movie with some of the best action sequences seen in the MCU jurisdiction, a couple of Hong Kong screen legends in the form of Tony Leung and Michelle Yeoh and a winning performance from Simu Liu as the first Asian lead in Marvel’s superhero stable.

The story begins 1,000 years ago with warlord Wenwu (Leung) taking possession of the mystical Ten Rings, each containing untold power. Now immortal and unbeatable, for the next millennium he amasses wealth and influence as his army secretly has a hand in controlling world events.

His evil ways come to a (temporary) halt when he meets Jiang Li (Fala Chen), a guardian of the mystic realm of Ta Lo. After a flirty battle, they fall in love. Wenwu puts the Ten Rings away as they welcome two kids, Shang-Chi and Xialing (Meng'er Zhang), to their happy family. But the salad days don’t last for long. When Jiang Li is murdered by a rival gang from Wenwu’s past, the immortal’s megalomaniac ways return. He trains Shang-Chi to be his number one assassin, and, at just fourteen-years-old, sends him off on his first mission.

Cut to present day. Shang-Chi is now an adult, living in San Francisco under the name Shaun. He and his best friend Katy (Awkwafina) work as hotel valets during the day, and most nights stay out too late singing karaoke. Katy has no idea of Shaun’s mysterious past until one morning on the bus a gang of daddy dearest’s assassins attempt to retrieve a jade pendant his mother gave him. Old instincts kick in and Shaun defends himself in what is probably the most fun fight sequence in any Marvel movie.

The action now shifts to Macau, as Shang-Chi, with Katy in tow, travel to China to warn Xialing that Wenwu’s assassins are likely coming for her pendant next. But questions loom: Why does Wenwu want the pendants, and what secrets do they contain?

“I don’t know what he wants with them,” says Shang-Chi. “But it can’t be good.”

“Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” succeeds because of its action, its cast and story but most of all it works because of its sincerity. It is as epic as any other Marvel movie but it’s the small moments that really add up. The story’s emphasis on personal cultural details, relationships and family provides an earthbound grounding that helps balance out the mystical themes of the final forty-five minutes.

The charming relationship between Shang-Chi and Katy brings considerable comedic relief, but also helps differentiate Shang-Chi from his other Marvel colleagues. He’s not an alien, or a wealthy industrialist with a penchant for world saving, or genetically mutated. He’s a car valet with an extraordinary set of skills learned through years of practice.

Liu’s performance is believable both as everyman Shaun and the heroic Shang-Chi, because the relationships that have formed him, with his mother, father, sister and Katy, are well detailed, showing us how and why he became the person he did. That backstory—the dreaded origin story—works, despite a reliance on flashbacks, and is distinct enough so as not to feel like Shang-Chi is being wrestled into the MCU.

The MCU influence becomes evident in the film’s busy climax. What was once a character drama, with great action sequences, that touched on issues of generational trauma via heartfelt performances—Leung elevates every scene he’s in with his majestic presence—switches gears to full blown, muddy CGI. The climatic world saving battle fills the screen with action, but compared to what came before—more up-close-and-personal fight scenes—it feels overblown and uninteresting.

Until that sequence, however, “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings” has the heroics, heart, humour and homages to Asian culture to make it the best, and most fun, standalone Marvel movie since “Black Panther.”

CINDERELLA: 3 STARS

The new “Cinderella,” starring pop singer Camila Cabello and now streaming on Amazon Prime, begins with a sweeping crane shot of the title character’s rustic village that could have been lifted from any one of the dozens of adaptations of the famous story. But by the time the villagers begin dancing to Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation,” tossing pitchforks of hay in the air and doing the Robot in time with the music, you realize this isn’t your fairy godmother’s version of the oft told tale.

The story’s bones are roughly the same as the Brothers Grimm folk tale. Orphan Ella, nicknamed Cinderella (Cabello) by her jealous stepsisters (Maddie Baillio and Charlotte Spencer) because her skin is often besmirched by cinders, dreams of one day travelling the world as a famous designer. For now, though, she lives in the dingy basement of her cruel and imperious step-mother Vivian’s (Idina Menzel) home, where she waits on them hand and foot, only to be called “worthless” and dismissed by a wave of Vivian’s hand.

The Royal Ball is imminent, and Prince Robert’s (Nicholas Galitzine) father King Rowan (Pierce Brosnan) thinks it is the perfect chance for his son to find a wife and settle down. When the prince catches an eyeful of Cinderella he is smitten before she disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll play your silly game,” he tells the King, “but only if every girl in the kingdom is invited to the ball regardless of wealth or stature.”

The king reluctantly agrees, and everyone is invited, even Cinderella. Except that she’s not interested.

“The whole thing is weird and antiquated,” she says. “Not my thing.”

She changes her mind when the Prince, in disguise, convinces her that there will be interesting people there, and she might even drum up some business as a designer. But she doesn’t believe anything romantic will come out of it.

“I’m dirty,” she says. “I smell like a basement and my best friends are mice.”

She whips up a frilly pink dress for the big night, but Vivian puts her foot down, and throws ink on the outfit, ruining it and Cinderella’s chances for going to the ball. She is despondent until Fab G (Billy Porter), her Fairy Godparent, enters her life in the most red-carpet-ready way possible.

“Hush, it’s magic time,” Fab G says as a sequined dress, glass slippers and a fancy carriage materialize. There are rules. No one, except the Prince, will be able to recognize her while she’s in the gown and the magic will wear off at midnight, so she must run home as the clock strikes.

Sparks fly between the Prince and Cinderella. He professes his love for her and says he intends on making her his princess. She’ll be royalty. “Royalty?” she says, channeling her inner Meghan, “What about my work?” As she is announced as the future Queen, the clock strikes and she flees, leaving behind one glass slipper.

“Cinderella” is a big Broadway style jukebox musical of the familiar tale given a thoroughly modern makeover. Written and directed by former “30 Rock” writer Kay Cannon, who also created the “Pitch Perfect” franchise, updates the story to emphasize female empowerment, the autonomy of fathers and sons, the freedom to choose one’s life and she evens softens up the traditionally evil step family. It is still a classic love story, but here Cinderella is no Disney Princess. She’s Girlboss Cinderella, in charge of her life, love and future.

The modifications are presented with sincerity and no small amount of humour—there’s even a pretty funny reference to Brosnan’s legendarily terrible singing voice, first noticed by, well, everyone in “Mama Mia”—but the changes also make it fairly simple to predict what’s going to happen, even if Cannon tries to distract you with big production numbers.

Gone are the old school Disney songs like “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes” and “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.” They’ve been replaced with reinterpreted pop and rock songs like “Material Girl” and “Somebody to Love.” Think “A Knight’s Tale,” the 2001 fantasy that mixed-and-matched modern music and dancing with a medieval setting.

“Cinderella” is a frothy, enjoyable confection that often resembles a music video. Cabello’s take on the character breathes the same air as Moana, “Brave’s” feisty Merida, and Elsa and Anna from “Frozen.” Purists may miss the old songs or traditional blue dress, but stories about women as active participants in their lives should become the new tradition.

MOGUL MOWGLI: 4 STARS

If a movie starring Riz Ahmed about a musician sidelined by a medical condition sounds familiar, it should. Last year he was nominated for Best Actor for playing a heavy metal drummer suffering hearing loss in “Sound of Metal.” He returns to theatres this week in “Mogul Mowgli,” a rap drama that treads similar ground but with a whole new attitude.

Ahmed, who co-wrote the script with director Bassam Tariq, stars as Zaheer, a London-born rapper known as Zed to his growing number of fans. His lyrics focus on racism, Islamophobia and the issues he faced as a young British Pakistani man.

Based in New York City, he’s about to embark on a European tour. His soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend (Aiysha Hart)—she’s grown tired of their FaceTime relationship while he’s on the road—thinks he needs to get grounded, to reconnect with his family in England.

“For someone who raps so much about where they’re from,” she says, “when was the last time you went home? When was the last time you actually spent time with your family?”

He returns to England, welcomed by his family, even if they disapprove of his career and choices. “I can't give you my blessing,” says his restaurateur father Bashir (Alyy Khan), “if I don't believe in it.”

Following a scuffle with a fan, he finds himself in the hospital, diagnosed with a degenerative autoimmune disease.

What exactly is wrong? “Your body can’t recognize itself,” his doctor says, “so it’s attacking itself.”

“If you can walk from that chair to that lift,” says his doctor pointing to the elevator ten feet away, “I’ll discharge you.” He can’t, and his treatment begins as he feels his career slip away.

“Mogul Mowgli” is anchored by a raw nerve of a performance from Ahmed. Bruised, physically and mentally, from the indignity of disease and his dreams slipping away, he vacillates between helplessness and anger, sadness and frustration. It’s powerful but most of all, human. He doesn’t play Zed simply as tragic. He’s often unlikeable, often unsympathetic. You know, human.

Often shot in searing close-up, and dotted with surreal sequences, “Mogul Mowgli” is in your face both visually and emotionally. The stark reality of Zed’s disease is tempered by dreamlike sequences that illustrate the chasm between life where he came from, to as he imagined it would be to where it is today. It’s a study of cultural identity, divides in families, how illness defines relationships and masculine ambition. It occasionally bites off more than it can chew, but as uncomfortable as it can get, it is never less than compelling.