Masters of the Universe touches on some big ideas but is let down with an excessively long script and the usual blockbuster clichés.

Self-awareness is key to making a 1980s IP like Masters of the Universe work because it originated from throwing magic, sci-fi and whatever else 10-year-old boys might like at the wall in the hopes of something cohering. The fact that we got something iconic yet ridiculous is amazing. The hero’s name is He-Man for Eternia’s sake and he’s all about talking rather than fighting. Hell, his arch-nemesis is a frigging cackling skull with a ripped body.

Director Travis Knight’s take embraces the self-awareness and giddy love of this melting pot of stuff. But the issue with making a movie adaptation aimed at connecting with 10-year-old boys is that most of them are incredibly annoying and desperate for attention, and Masters of the Universe is hunting for that validation. The other approach is to do what Greta Gerwig’s Barbie did and use it as a jumping-off point for bigger ideas. This movie also tries to do that, but winds up being, well, a bunch of random ideas being thrown at the wall in hopes of something cohering.

Right off the bat, we’re thrown face-first into a 20-minute exposition dump about Eternia and how a 10-year-old Adam ended up on Earth after Skeletor (Jared Leto) attacks. Everything from the lighthearted tone and rainbow aesthetic to the literal casting of Idris Elba could’ve been taken from Thor: Ragnarok or another mid-2010s Marvel movie. This would’ve been interesting 10 years ago, but at this point in time, we’ve seen it done to death.

When it is revealed that the 20-minute prologue is an adult Adam monologuing his entire backstory to a Hinge date, Masters of the Universe ostensibly starts again with another 20-minute sequence re-introducing adult Adam on planet Earth. Rather than focus on the emotional core and the story, the haphazardly cobbled script (which has six different people credited for the story and screenwriting) preoccupies itself with over-explaining the logic of how everything works. The result is a 141-minute slog that doesn’t need to be that long. ‘How’ this movie even got to be this bloated is another mystery since nothing interesting really happens.

15 years after landing on Earth, Adam is now a pink button-down-wearing HR person who is well-versed in safe space vernacular. He is what one would think of as a modern-day ‘man’. But underneath that surface is the desire to become a muscle-bound hero. Galitzine may not be on the comedic level of Ryan Gosling as Ken, but he brings a sweet sincerity that makes Adam work as a woke blonde himbo, and enough physicality to be a believable action hero.

Where things get messier is how the movie uses Adam to explore ideas like white male privilege. He is a man who was born with several silver spoons in his mouth and is given even more power to become He-Man, so it makes sense that Adam is characterised – in both this movie and historically – as someone who has empathy, wants to share power with others and would rather talk things out than use those big muscles.

Yet, the way Masters of the Universe depicts Adam’s vulnerability feels critical of how ‘men’ have become in the present day. Despite being jacked and handsome, Adam is a bumbling idiot who can’t seem to navigate his way through any situation, social or otherwise. The only time the movie empowers Adam is when he becomes He-Man and is finally unleashed upon his enemies. As we watch him wail on his enemies, we’re inexplicably told that empathy and understanding are the most important traits of a man.

Barbie is a highly focused examination of femininity, self-determination, and how one must leave the realms of fantasy to become ‘real’ on Earth. Women strive to be seen. Masters of the Universe plays as a messy inverse. Its hero, Adam (Nicholas Galitzine), wants to leave Earth for his fantastical world of Eternia, not unlike how certain factions of men want to hide behind their fantasies. Is it trying to criticise toxic masculinity or isn’t it? In telling us one thing while simultaneously showing us a completely opposite thing, the movie never commits to a position or clear verdict. It is merely trying to have its protein-filled cake and eat it as well.

Perhaps I’ve been overthinking Masters of the Universe and focusing too much on what it is (or isn’t) trying to say, and not enough on the ‘fun’ element. Ironically, the way this movie actually works the least is as a brainrot blockbuster.

Each joke goes on for a beat too long and feels incredibly self-conscious. Rather than get bullied for liking this stuff, Masters of the Universe tries to call it out first in a defensive attempt not to look uncool. There’s even a running joke about Adam getting stuffed into lockers as a kid, which makes no sense since Eternia doesn’t look like a place where lockers exist. That sort of thing works only a couple of times, but when it comes up in nearly every scene, you’re left wondering what even is this movie trying to do tonally.

For all the promise of a giant colourful universe, we’re also limited to dank and dingy locations, like underground lairs, generic forests where leaves are red instead of green, and a perfectly bland Castle Greyskull (emphasis on the grey). The action itself is competently staged and shot, yet each sequence feels overlong while lacking in any actual stakes. You know He-Man is going to survive and win because he’s He-Man, and it’s all too CGI-heavy for any moment to really land in any impactful way.

Whatever fun is lacking in the action, the supporting characters make up for most of it in a big way, especially the antagonists.

Jared Leto’s acting modus operandi has always been rooted in an all-encompassing, self-conscious ‘look at me do this acting thing!’ way. Given that Skeletor is equal parts iconic and stupid (complimentary) in the most showy of ways, Leto is unironically the perfect fit for the character. He chews the scenery without being obnoxious (or being at the right level of obnoxious), is campy or intimidating when required, and nails the character’s dumb cackle. The fact that we don’t ever see Leto’s face (Skeletor is basically all CGI) makes the performance stand on its own rather than call attention to the actor himself (and all the awful baggage that comes along with him).

The movie’s MVP is undoubtedly Alison Brie as the baddie sorceress Evil-Lyn, who is quite evil indeed. While Evil-Lyn is aligned with Skeletor, it’s clear that she’s also looking for a way out of this mess. Whenever she says something, her eyes and expressions read something completely different. She’s clearly aware of what’s going on and how to play the game, right down to saying the right thing to placate Skeletor when he’s having a hissy fit. In the limited screentime she has, Brie captures an entire arc of a woman in an abusive relationship and is doing what she can to survive.

In trying to emulate Barbie while trying to appease both long-time fans and newcomers, Masters of the Universe succeeds at being nothing more than a confusing time for all audiences. Had this movie been made a decade ago, it would’ve seemed fresh and interesting. But as it stands in the present day, it is barely a master of its own little IP domain, let alone the universe.