Disney is once again whisking movie-goers away to the Land of Oz, but this time the journey is anything but magical.

The opening credits—a topsy-turvy Victorian circus—promise creativity: a quirky take on a bygone era, drama, suspense, and great visuals. But the best is over before the film begins, and none of the potential is realized in what follows. Oz: The Great and Powerful provides a similar experience to Tim Burton’s recent Alice in Wonderland (2010): another Disney sequel to a classic that is high on budget but low on the pathos, imagination, and majesty of the original.

Apart from a moving and whimsical score by Danny Elfman, creative costumes, and the odd moment of wit, little else shines in this adaptation. The plot is tired and predictable, the screenplay deadened by two-dimensional characters and dialogue that ranges from wooden to saccharine.

Oz: The Great and Powerful is a prequel to The Wizard of Oz—one might call it the story of the origins for the Wicked Witch, and the wizard himself. The hero, Oz (James Franco), is a small-time magician, a womanizer, and a con man, working crowds at a shabby circus. He ends up in the Land of Oz after a mishap with a hot-air balloon and a tornado.

In this fantastic realm, Oz meets witches Theodora (Mila Kunis) and Evanora (Rachel Weisz), who expect him to live out a prophecy and save this world from its tyrannical ruler.

Of course, the ‘wizard’ has no magic, only parlour tricks. But in order to claim a kingship and a lion’s share of treasure, he decides to kill the Wicked Witch. Oz sets off on a small string of adventures. His companions—a flying monkey and an unnamed china doll—can’t match the vibrancy of the Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man. The climax is a bit of fun, featuring the use of smoke and mirrors to combat real magic; but it is too little, too late.

There is no reason to mince words—the acting is downright bad. James Franco has no charm. Rachel Weisz is over the top. Michelle Williams as Glinda has a few sweet moments, but spends more time doe-eyed, and mugging for the camera. The worst offender is Mila Kunis, who cries and screeches, but fails to convincingly portray either good or evil. By the climax, subtlety is somewhere back in Kansas, and it seems that director Sam Raimi went with a philosophy of ‘the more acting, the better.’

One might hope that the visual spectacle might provide some magic, or at least a distraction from this fiasco, but the imagery is uninspired. Frames are full of bright colours—flora of impossible scale, and the odd CGI fantasy creature—but nothing that resounds as memorable or original.

Beyond this, what is inescapable is an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. In some shots, one is hyper-aware that the actors are walking in front of a blue screen. Most other scenes lack a mid-ground of props, landscape features, or background characters to convince the audience of any depth. Without memorable plot, characters, or dialogue, the rest of the film feels shallow as well.

Any film that wants to take on the legacy of the 1939 classic—and L. Frank Baum’s book—has big, sparkly shoes to fill.  But very little succeeds in Oz: The Great and Powerful. Both its high and low points leave the audience aching for the original.

You’re welcome to take this modern-day trip down the yellow brick road, but before long you’ll be wishing for your own pair of ruby slippers to send you home.

The streets of Port-au-Prince are just around the corner from McGill—or at least as much of them as anyone can expect to see without traveling to Haiti.

They are put on display in Haiti: Chaos and Daily Life, an exhibition by Montreal photographer Benoit Aquin now showing at the McCord Museum. Featuring 40 large colour photographs, the exhibit offers a glimpse into the day-to-day lives of Haitians over the past three years, and explores how they continue to cope with the aftershock of a devastating earthquake.

Aquin has always been particularly interested in the impact of natural disasters on the environment, and the ways in which communities cope with them. He has travelled all over the world to capture these scenes with his camera, from the dustbowl in China (his exploration earned him the prestigious Prix Pictet award in 2008) to the Nile River. But Aquin has forged a special connection with Haiti, an island he first visited when he was four years old. Haiti: Chaos and Daily Life is laid out not chronologically but rather somewhat thematically, from devastation on the streets, to an exploration of the hurricane’s impact on buildings and their interiors, and ultimately to colourful images of a wild carnival in Port-au-Prince.

Excerpts from The World is Moving Around Me, the 2010 memoir of  Haitian-born Montreal novelist Dany Laferriere accompany the artwork, and shed some light on Aquin’s intentions. One quotation reads, “During the last two weeks of January 2010, Haiti was seen more often than during the previous two centuries. And it wasn’t because of a coup or one of those bloody stories mixing voodoo and cannibalism—it was because of an earthquake,  an event over which no one has any control. For once, our misfortune wasn’t exotic. What happened to us could have happened anywhere.”

Many Canadians may find images of women bathing in mud or splattered with blood in a series of photographs titled “Ceremony” to be ‘exotic.’ But such generic titles stress the globally transcendent rather than locally specific nature of these rituals.

Aquin has a penchant for capturing motion, especially people in motion. These sights are often hopeful: relief workers helping the injured and excavating rubble, a man jumping up ‘in flight.’ But amidst these images, there is the occasional photograph that stops you in your tracks with its eerie stillness—like the photograph of a dead man sprawled on the street, ironically situated next to a cardboard box with the slogan, “Nice Walk.”

But such images are the exception. Overall, the exhibit does not stress despair, but rather, celebrates resilience. Perhaps such an optimistic portrayal of Haiti’s recovery has the potential to create a dangerous sense of false comfort. After all, Haiti is still struggling to get back on its feet—one could argue that more gruesome documentation of the event would garner more donations and political action. Aquin’s exhibit shouldn’t be considered as an all-encompassing rendering of events.  It isn’t a call for action, but for precisely this reason, it is also very much a work of art.

Haiti: Chaos and Daily Life is on display until May 12 at the McCord Museum (690 Sherbrooke West). Student admission $8, free Wednesdays.

Cornered, a play by Jim Burke,  carefully confines its characters, Vinne (Christopher Moore) and Rex (Howard Rosenstein), within a boxing ring. Despite their restricted space, Moore and Rosenstein keep their witty back-and-forth fresh and captivating.

Vinne and Rex encounter challenges beyond the difficulty of working within a small square box throughout. The duo, along with the characters Doxy and Little T, reveal their world of boxing through quick entertaining banter, which is nuanced by thick Manchester accents. Despite their intonation and the venue’s echoing acoustics, Rosenstein and Moore’s quips are crisp.

The plot is not elaborate. The boxers prepare for Little T’s fight, discuss dodgy Doxy and his schemes, and comment on the hierarchy of the tough men behind the boxing ring. Vinne and Rex remain on the edge of a high stakes boxing game where trust is key. Unfortunately, they both have their own agenda, which exposes their true loyalties and leaves both scrambling. The spark that fuels the play, however, is not the outcome of the plot, but the way Moore and Rosenstein execute the nuanced highs and lows in Burke’s fast moving dialogue.

Burke’s clever writing is carried by the chemistry between Moore and Rosenstein, who maintain brilliant comedic timing both vocally and physically. They establish the relationship between their characters early. Rex is the corner man who knows his way around the ropes, and is often frustrated by his apprentice Vinne, the young enthusiast. The director, Paul Van Dyck, choreographed the duo to perfection. He creates beautiful and varied stage pictures to illustrate the fluctuating dynamics between Vinne and Rex, never allowing them to appear static on stage.

The staging is particularly effective when Vinne mimics Rex’s pacing across the ring, their footwork adding to the rhythm of their speech layering the mounting tension. Moore’s erratic physicality, and the range and speed of his voice is incredibly entertaining. He struts exuberantly around the ring, jabbing the air, his fists as sharp as his words, until Rex tethers him. As Rex, Rosenstein limps around, chewing loudly on chocolates while he curtly spits out his lines, his weight slowing Vinne down.

Rex’s impatience with Vinne’s apparent lack of understanding creates moments of comedy because of its repetitive nature. Rosenstein harnesses his energy so that it is visibly simmering, ready to erupt when provoked by Vinne’s feigned ignorance. Rosenstein colours in various ways each time his character loses his temper with Vinne. He takes advantage of dramatic pauses, and has impeccable timing, leaving the audience hanging in anticipation of his next move.

While there is little to complain about Van Dyck’s superbly directed production, his use of sound to separate the play is distracting. He opens the play by blasting music, as though it is coming from Vinne’s headphones. This effectively grabs attention, but the use of the audio break to inform the audience of the boxing match during a blackout, along with the actors’ exit, lowers the energy significantly. Rosenstein and Moore are able to recapture the former intensity, but the time that it takes for the limping Rex to get back into the ring drags out the transition.

From the script to the risky staging in an unconventional space, this production is polished and highly compelling on all fronts. Foul-mouthed and funny, Cornered is a knockout performance.

Cornered is presented by Rabbit in a Hat Productions in collaboration with Infinithéâtre, running until March 17 at Bain St-Michel (5300 St-Dominique). Student tickets $20.