This movie is based on the myth that humans only use 10% of their brain’s capacity. OK, right out the gate, the whole film’s premise is based on shitty pseudo-science, so it’s not off to a great start. The concept is this: what would happen to a person if they could unlock 100% of their brain’s capacity?
Unfortunately, Lucy isn’t able to come up with anything original. As the title character unlocks ever greater portions of her brain, she is able to see cell phone signals (apparently it unlocked greater eyesight, too), and she develops telekinetic powers (apparently it unlocked the ability to defy the laws of physics, too).
As Lucy herself becomes more intelligent, she becomes less empathetic, essentially becoming a machine. This is one of the oldest, most tired clichés in all of science fiction. It would have been nice if they had tried to come up with something a little different. By the end of the film, she literally becomes a machine, swamped in black goo, and interfacing with everything on the planet. She becomes a god-computer or something, I don’t know, it didn’t make any sense. It goes completely off the rails, and is hilarious in how stupid it is.
Melissa McCarthy’s movies are trash. Most angry bloggers on the Internet agree with me. But, at the same time, I kept reading how Spy was the exception; how it was the one movie where she plays against type, and how it’s a laugh riot. So, stupidly believing said angry bloggers, I watched this movie in the hopes I would enjoy it.
Once again, McCarthy fails to deliver. This is just as shitty as the rest of her work. She does play against type at first. She plays a nebbish CIA desk jockey who aids suave super-spy Jude Law in his field assignments. She’s frumpy and passive, and in love with a man who uses her without any intention of reciprocating her feelings. That’s all fine and good, but none of it is actually funny.
Later, McCarthy winds up going into the field. She ultimately dons the usual McCarthy persona: brash, rude, bitchy, and with fat jokes abounding. What good will the film might have earned by that point is immediately squandered. The “jokes” the film offers up are nothing more than insults and slapstick. They could work if they were clever, but they exist solely as a vehicle for McCarthy to cavort on screen, offering no humor whatsoever.
The only part of the movie that gave me any joy was Jason Statham’s hot-headed, dim-witted secret agent. But it begs the question, why are the CIA’s top two secret agents British? Is it movie law that all secret agents be British?