Men in Black

A six-issue independent comic book baked in hyperviolence about a group of (largely Aryan) secretive agents that use any means necessary to hide the existence of the supernatural from the public at large gets remade into a popcorn entertainment that’s a lively buddy cop movie. If that sounds like a backhanded compliment, then it hit with the correct intention. The remodel of Men in Black softens the overall tone for a more playful one that largely works as some of Will Smith’s shtick has aged poorly.

Will Smith is a member of the NYPD that gets recruited by Tommy Lee Jones’ Agent Kay to join the titular organization. They’re after a McGuffin in the form of a galaxy attached to a cat’s collar while fighting off a roach-like alien that’s taken Vincent D’Onofrio’s skin as a disguise. That’s the basic premise of the film as it provides ample wiggle room for Smith to mug for the camera and deliver rapid-fire bits of humor in contracts of Jones’ superior, flinty straight man form.

There’s a weirder, grosser, more morbid film flitting around the edges of the popcorn entertainment and these flashes keep the energy up and your attention engaged. A talking pug is cute, a tiny alien housed in someone’s robotic head is funny, and Tony Shaloub’s ability to regrow his head is Cronenbergian body horror played as slapstick. These moments give some personality and flavor to what is otherwise a thoroughly enjoyable but generic buddy cop movie.

But the real MVP of the film is D’Onofrio’s committed and completely grotesque performance as Edgar. Or maybe it is Rick Baker’s creation designs, stunning makeup, and humoresque, lively puppetry. Or maybe it’s the zippy pacing and structurally foolproof screenplay that keeps things moving and developing at an organic, playful, occasionally macabre world for its actors to play in. However you look at it, Men in Black holds up surprisingly well given its age, moderate overreliance on special effects, and mid-90s flourishes (god, that terrible Smith rap).