Jumper — A perfectly good waste of science fiction

Warning: Spoilers ahead. Don’t worry, the movie’s not worth much anyway.

Jumper, a recent addition to the science-fiction genre, places our favorite Star Wars prequel trilogy anti-hero Hayden Chris­tensen front and center as a tele­porting young man chased by those who find his gift to be an abom­i­nation. The concept is pretty awesome: being able to teleport anywhere you want will probably invoke fantasies of girls’ locker rooms for a lot of the geeks watching, and fantasies of taking anything you want for those who are crim­i­nally inclined. Okay, we’d all probably do both those things.

But that’s where the coolness ends. The concept was good on paper and probably epically awesome in the writer’s mind. But they really dropped the ball with the execution, the same way they messed up The Covenant. There’s every­thing necessary here to create a great story: a cool super­natural ability, an inter­esting tool of the trade, conflict of interest via the bloodline, and a love story. Star Wars pulled it off with great gusto. A New Hope set the stage and created the mythology of the world we were set in. The Empire Strike Back built up the romance. And Return of the Jedi resolved the bloodline story. How did Jumper fare?

What Jumper did instead was spread itself too thin. The movie is incredibly shallow. The plotline on IMDb suggests some­thing far more epic than is evident in the movie. What do we see in the movie? We see a late blooming tele­porting kid who discovers his power when his life is in danger. He goes on to rob a bank and develops a penchant for fancy apart­ments in the high-rise buildings of Manhattan. Living a posh lifestyle, he goes off to lunch in Europe and surfs in Japan, ending his day with a setting sun in Egypt. One day, he tries to pick up a woman in London. We don’t see whether or not he really succeeds, but he does end up going back to his flat in New York City accom­panied only by the umbrella that he brought along. A myste­rious black man with white hair is shock­ingly occu­pying the apartment upon his return. He intro­duces himself as Roland (did anyone else conjure up the scene where Sam Jackson says, “My name is Pitt, and yo’ ass ain’t talkin’ your way out of this” here?). After a failed attempt to build tension, Roland the bad ass in a mandarin collar shirt decides to strike down upon Mr. Rice with great vengeance and furious anger.

This is the first time we are exposed to the tools of the Paladin’s trade. They are visually inter­esting and its design is intriguing. They are to Jumper what the lightsaber is to Star Wars. It would make a good story to see the history behind this tool: what did Paladin’s use before they had high-powered launchable tasers.

After the fight, we are taken back to Michigan where David Rice seeks his long lost love. With money in his pocket and the ability to take her anywhere, David goes to the bar where Millie works now. He presumes to whisk her away to Rome where things go awry. The depth of the romance was disap­pointing though. Are you telling me that Millie would get so absurdly horny enough to take off her shirt after mere seconds of kissing? Okay, fine, maybe Millie is easy. Even so, the attraction and inter­action between the two simply wasn’t believable. I’ll have to blame that on bad writing.

We’re now in Rome, where the security officer at the Colosseum provides the best part of the movie. When David attempts to gain access to the Colosseum, the officer responds, “No, I’m sorry. It is impos­sible.” I don’t know what it was that was so funny in this inter­action, but I’m sure that the hilarity of it must’ve been expe­ri­enced first hand by a writer who visited Italy and heard such a funny mistrans­lation. David continues to hide his ability from Millie and gains access in order to give her a very special tour. We’re now intro­duced to another jumper, Griffin, who happens to be taking a leak. Soon enough, some Paladins emerge ominously from the dark archway. A fight ensues, and Griffin defeats the Paladins.

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