NEW YORK (OSV News) – As strained as it is bloodsoaked and morally wayward, the would-be action adventure “Kraven the Hunter” (Columbia) is a hopeless dud. On the upside, moviegoers misguided enough to patronize the film will likely be too bored to be much corrupted by it.

After a brief slice of mayhem set in the present day, director J.C. Chandor’s brutish origin story for the titular Marvel Comics character carries us back to the unhappy youth of his alter ego, Sergei Kravinoff (Levi Miller). Both mild-mannered Sergei and his equally gentle half-brother Dimitri (Billy Barratt) live in fear of their Russian gangster dad, Nikolai (Russell Crowe).

Determined to toughen both lads up, Nikolai forces them to join him on an African safari, during which Sergei has a near-fatal encounter with a lion. Yet a magical potion given to him by a stranger named Calypso (Diaana Babnicova) — a girl his own age to whom viewers have previously been introduced — not only revives Sergei but endows him with superpowers.

Once grown, and now played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Sergei uses his gifts to track down criminals to whom he doles out do-it-yourself justice, gaining him his nickname. The intense isolation of his undercover lifestyle is relieved only by his ongoing relationship with Dimitri (Fred Hechinger) and his newly-minted partnership with the adult version of Calypso (Ariana DeBose).

Calypso, a crusading attorney who is meant to serve as our ethical compass, briefly questions Sergei’s extra-legal methods. But this does nothing to stop his sequential rampages. Throw in the fact that Calypso’s family features a long line of tarot card-carrying witches and it’s clear that
cinephiles of any sense will not feel a yen for “Kraven.”

The film contains excessive graphic violence with much gore, benignly viewed vigilantism, an occult theme, a few uses of profanity and several instances each of rough language and crude talk. The OSV News classification is O — morally offensive. The Motion Picture Association rating is R — restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.

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The original ‘Lion King’ was the first film I ever saw in cinemas as a teeny child in the 90s, and it had a profound impact on me. 

The concept of the circle of life, the great kings of the past looking down and guiding us, that we all have our place in the world… it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to having a religion.

It might make Mufasa my Jesus. Or would that be Simba? Either way, no offence intended. 

Mum tells me I used to run around as a four-year-old playing the character ‘Lion King’ – I hadn’t fully grasped the concept – and heartily sang ‘Hakuna Matata’ with the lyrics “it’s our problem-free…alosony…”

So it was a bit special to go and see ‘Mufasa’, the live-action prequel (and sequel?) to the OG ‘Lion King’ with my mum, as well as my nephew Ari and niece Ruby in tow. 

Although, I was apprehensive. I didn’t HATE the 2019 remake of ‘The Lion King’, but like many, I thought it was unnecessary. It was basically a shot-for-shot copy of the original with some new songs and fancy animation.

‘Mufasa’ promised to tell the origin story of the great king I grew up worshipping more than any Disney princess, and despite some serious flaws, I did love being told the tale.

Much like his son Simba, Mufasa’s early life is rocked by tragedy and heartbreak. I shed my first tear approximately 23 minutes in. Everyone’s favourite shaman monkey Rafiki recounts the story of Mufasa to his granddaughter (grandcub?) Kiara, along with Timon and Pumbaa, who occasionally chime in with comedic complaints about their minor roles in this movie. 

We already knew that Mufasa was set to be introduced as an orphaned cub, but watching that play out accompanied by the iconic notes of Hans Zimmer’s original Oscar-winning score sent me right back to my childhood and strapped me firmly back on the emotional rollercoaster of the first movie. 

I replayed Mufasa’s death scene in the 1994 version over and over on video tape, marvelling at the entirely new feelings those swelling orchestral crescendos made me feel as a child, trying to grapple with the idea of death, and worse – losing your parents.

Unfortunately, the rest of the music in ‘Mufasa’ didn’t prompt the same level of emotion. Hans Zimmer dropped out ahead of production, and while ‘Hamilton’ creator and ‘Moana’ songwriter Lin Manuel-Miranda is an exceptional talent, he just couldn’t compete with Elton John and Tim Rice’s epic bangers like ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight?’ and ‘Circle of Life’. 

Perhaps the biggest let down was the new villain song, sung by an ‘outsider’ giant white lion named Kiros, who despite being genuinely quite scary, was restrained by a jokey, peppy Broadway number called ‘Bye Bye’. It didn’t have a whisker of the operatic, ominous energy of Scar’s ‘Be Prepared’, a battle cry worthy of one of the greatest cartoon bad guys ever. 

Still, the film did a good job of answering questions some 30 years in the making – were Scar and Mufasa enemies from birth? (No) How did Mufasa and Sarabi fall in love? (Cheesily, of course) How did Scar get the injury that gave him his name? (You see it coming, but it’s still satisfying as hell). 

One particularly earth-shaking moment saw me and my 10-year-old nephew turn to each other and simultaneously yell ‘Pride Rock!’ as the familiar scenery of the original story started to come together, and my heart could have burst. 

This film had huge paw prints to fill, and I’m not sure it ever truly could have – especially not for a devotee like me – but it worked its way towards an ending that at least paid spectacular homage to the themes of the original. The last half hour left me an absolute blubbering mess, with my niece and nephew shooting me alarmed looks when they could tear their eyes away from the film’s climax. 

As Rafiki finished up his epic tale, Kiara mourned the grandfather she never knew, saying she “didn’t want him to go” after seeing a vision of him in the clouds so vivid she felt like he was there – just like Simba once did. 

I’ve felt the same hearing stories about my grandfather, who I also never met. Mum still gets visits from her late dad in her dreams, incredibly exhilarating and bittersweet. 

Of course, Rafiki would say none of these heroes of our past ever really leave us – and the magic of these universal, deeply relatable themes from ‘The Lion King’ still shines through by the end of ‘Mufasa’. 

The kids should go for the majestic creatures, close calls, comedic asides and vibrant visuals, but the grown ups should go for the kid they once were.

‘Mufasa: The Lion King’ hits cinemas Thursday 19th December.

Lorraine O’Grady, a one-of-a-kind conceptual artist who examined racism and sexism through a multitude of mediums, has died at age 90. The artist’s groundbreaking works came after decades spent in other pursuits, including research economist and rock critic.

The artist died Friday of natural causes in New York, her representatives at the Miriane Ibrahim Gallery confirmed.

Though O’Grady didn’t turn to art until she was in her 40s, she was motivated by “the desire to produce work in service of her own ideas,” according to her website. Her art took form through performances, photography, curation, installation, video and writing.

“O’Grady has stated that art ‘is the primary discipline where an exercise of calculated risk can regularly turn up what you had not been looking for,’” the biography on her website says.

And she proved time and again over the course of her artistic career that she was a risk-taker.

In one of her best-known performances, O’Grady crashed public art events as “Mlle Bourgeoise Noire,” or “Miss Black Middle Class.” She wore a gown made of 180 pairs of white gloves and carried a white whip studded with flowers. O’Grady critiqued racial and gender divides in the art world to her peers’ faces.

“She gave timid black artists and thoughtless white institutions each a ‘piece of her mind,’” the project description reads.

O’Grady was born in Boston in 1934 to parents from Jamaica. She studied economics and Spanish literature at Wellesley College in Massachusetts, which led her to a job as a research economist for the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.

After she left the department to write fiction, she worked at the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research.

While working as an intelligence officer on African and Latin American affairs, she read dozens of news articles, radio-station transcripts and classified reports from agents in the field, according to her website. Eventually, after language “melted into a gelatinous pool,” she quit and entered the Iowa Writers Workshop in 1965.

After that, O’Grady worked in commercial translation for several years before moving into music criticism, reviewing acts including the Allman Brothers, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, Bob Marley and the Wailers, and Sly and the Family Stone.

Her first work, “Cutting Out the New York Times,” is a series of 26 Dadaist poems formed from printed headlines that ran in the paper in 1977. After that, she remained in New York to produce art.

Her artistic works have been featured at the Art Institute of Chicago, the Museum of Modern Art in New York, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and the Whitney Museum of American Art, among others. But her website features digital versions of most of her archive.

Another performance, “Art Is…,” challenged the idea that avant-garde art had nothing to do with Black people.

O’Grady, during Harlem’s African-American Day Parade in September 1983, put 15 performers on a float carrying empty gold picture frames, taking real-time snapshots of people walking by. She believed if she could put art into a Black space, it would flourish.

“To shouts of ‘Frame me, make me art!’ and ‘That’s right, that’s what art is, WE’re the art!’ O’Grady’s decision was affirmed,” her website reads.

A faculty member at UC Irvine from 2000 to 2015, teaching art students, O’Grady won a Creative Capital artist grant in 2015.

O’Grady is survived by son Guy David Jones, daughter-in-law Annette Olbert Jones, grandchildren Devon April Jones, Kristin Emily Jones and Ciara Casey Mendes, and four great-grandchildren.