![]() ![]() Jason Bourne’s problems start at the foundation, with the very question of its own reason for existence. Well, Jason Bourne has arrived, like a blaring siren, wooping a warning: they can even fuck these up. And in this particularly vile summer of mainstream moviemaking – in which the big releases have run the range from outright disasters to merely okay – a new installment seemed like our savior, the Gatsby-esque green light across the bay. ![]() Yet the original Bourne trilogy (and, to a lesser extent, the 2012 spin-off The Bourne Legacy) were proof that within that rubric, writers and directors who cared enough could make movies that marshaled the considerable resources of franchise filmmaking, and come up with films that were intelligent, engrossing, and entertaining. They had all the watermarks of soulless product: based (barely) on a beach-read book series, these were big-budget summer action movies fronted by a marquee star, providing a new installment every couple of years to retrace the steps and regenerate the revenue. For the last decade and a half, the Bourne movies were a reliable argument for how the studio blockbuster franchise machine wasn’t completely evil.
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