Of course, lamenting that the old "Clash" is so much better than the new one will take us only so far. Any remake has to stand on its own merits. That said, "Clash of the Titans" still sucks.
[. . .]
The Kraken is big all right, and his design -- a small, turtlish head perched on a gargantuan body -- owes a debt, as so many modern movie creatures do, to H.R. Giger's design for "Alien." But this Kraken is disappointing; there's no glamour or mystery to him. He's overscaled and underwhelming, and even in 3-D, he lacks dimension.
[. . .]
But what about everything Hollywood, with movies like this "Clash of the Titans," is failing to give us? The movie is big all right. But where's the magic?(Stephanie Zacharek, "Clash of the Titans" could make the gods weep,” Salon, 2 April 2010)
I promise you, boredom, demi-gods!
Minor spoilers (leakages):
Kalibos bleeds scorpions that are 500 times more powerful than he is (and Kalibos rips people apart, making him 500 times more powerful than regular-strength Perseus is). Medusa is 500 times more powerful than heroes are. Kraken is about same as original, but here you're left feeling he should have been the size of Jupiter -- the planet, that is -- for right-balance sake.
Good movie to go to credit that your absolute unexceptional normality keeps you well within demi-god range. Have to be able to imagine yourself standing up to parents who promise a lifetime of standing-around and being bored, though.
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You were right, Zeus! Spare us!
As a further note, I have heard that what in particular marks Art in depression eras is showmanship and spectacle. As someone who was into the 1920s but skipped the rest bit until "It's a Wonderful Life" or so, I'm actually wondering if what Art most tries to prove during these times is that man is about as ordinary, as humble-worthy, as disapproving fore-fathers decreed. If depressions are Adam after Eden, willed proof of our own sinful nature, that is -- which is what I think they are -- then maybe what people most want now are a steady flow of films like this that have you thinking that maybe the last 5 000 years of artistic accomplishment were just a fluke after all -- that this steady flow of junk is true proof of all we're made of and all we should subsequently expect. It's our way, perhaps, of suffering the depression, without incurring the release of the Kraken.