A hodgepodge stew of Rebel Without a Cause, Twilight and War of the Worlds amounts to not very much at all in D.J. Caruso’s I Am Number Four, a by-the-numbers adaptation of Pittacus Lore’s alien love-and-adventure book. Undoubtedly, producers Steven Spielberg (slumming it) and Michael Bay had their eyes set on a Harry Potter-style franchise, but it is hard to see today’s savvy teens flocking to this lacklustre first instalment in sufficient numbers to warrant any follow-ups.
The titular digit is John Smith (Alex Pettyfer), whose outward appearance as a square-jawed but surly teen misfit hides the truth of his existence – he is an alien, who must constantly shift his location to avoid the Mogadorian hit squad that roams the world eliminating his kind. Smith lives with his assigned guardian Henri (Timothy Olyphant) with whom he shares a typically edgy but clichéd teenager/father relationship, and one bad arse beagle (which, unsurprisingly, is revealed to be a fellow denizen of Smith’s home planet). Smitten with cutie pie Sarah (Dianna Agron), Smith decides to take a stand in small-town Ohio and face the Mogadorians, ensuring an effects-heavy finale.
Caruso has done stylish/suspenseful (Disturbia, 2007) and spectacular/stupid (Eagle Eye, 2008), yet he brings no discernible directorial flourish to I Am Number Four; it is one of the most bland and lifeless blockbuster wannabes I’ve seen in some time. Previewed in the small-screen friendly 1.85:1 ratio, the film’s languid mid-west setting and high-school hallway backdrop gives the film a distinctly afternoon TV serial feel.
The production’s inexplicable restraint is embodied in the bloodless central romance between John and Sarah, two of Hollywood’s most anaemic teen characters ever; the template is most certainly the tortured Bella and sullen Edward from author Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series. (Would somebody please bring back the bawdy teens of the American Pie or Porky films, who were far more fun to be around than this current crop of pasty navel-gazers.)
With his lean, towering frame and granite jawline, 20-year-old Alex Pettyfer is that film-destroying enigma: A miscast lead that is neither convincing as a teen outsider nor as someone who can blend into the secondary-school background. His very physicality, which eliminates any element of surprise when he gets his butt-kicking mojo into gear, virtually screams 'Look at me!" Kevin Durand’s campy bad-guy act as the head Mogadorian is an unintentional hoot. The production shows some wisdom in the casting of two Australians – Callan McAullife as UFO-nut best friend Sam, and Teresa Palmer as leather-clad warrior Number Six are the film’s biggest assets (though Palmer’s accent wavers comically at certain points).
Spielberg’s extensive experience with 'alien-on-earth’ plotting explains his presence, but his fingerprints are nowhere to be seen; Bay’s final reel CGI blow-out delivers, but comes off as desperate. The post-holiday season/pre-US summer release slot suggests that I Am Number Four’s studio backers aren’t expecting stellar returns on their investment. The film’s potency as either a kicker for a potential series or as a standalone must-see event film are limp, to say the least. I Am Number Four excels merely as a whopping missed opportunity.
