You’re either on the wavelength of “Venom” or you’re not. If you are, you’re not alone, because as it turns out, a lot of folks are. The wildly successful Marvel series from Sony comprises a triptych of strangely appealing comic book movies featuring Tom Hardy’s take on journalist Eddie Brock and his sassy “symbiote” sidekick Venom (whom Hardy also voices). The third installment, “Venom: The Last Dance,” rounds out the trio of films, which are both straight-faced and irreverent, creating a campy tone all their own, distinct from the more self-serious superheroes or the sarcastically self-referential ones.
Much of that unique humor has to do with star Hardy’s performance as both Venom and Eddie and his writing contributions (he has a story credit on both 2021’s “Venom: Let There Be Carnage” and this new one, as well as the actor’s close collaboration with longtime friend Kelly Marcel, who wrote all three films. Marcel makes her directorial debut with “The Last Dance,” which announces itself with that title as Venom’s potential last twirl on the floor.
The main appeal of these films has always been the relationship between Eddie and Venom, his alien pal who frequently pops out to say hello and crack wise, and who can take over Eddie’s body with his tar-like mass and giant teeth. The irascible Venom loves animals, eating brains and letting the music move him (in the second installment, the characters hit up a rave; in this one, it’s a choreographed disco dance in a Vegas penthouse).
That remains the focus of “The Last Dance,” in which Eddie and Venom try to make it from Mexico to New York City and end up stranded in Area 51, as aliens are wont to do. Through no small amount of exposition, we learn that the pair have become a codex, or key, to unlock some sort of galactic prison where a stringy-haired dark lord of sorts has been locked up by his symbiote children. He has now dispatched an army of stabby crab-like aliens through portals to retrieve the Eddie-Venom codex and free himself.
The pair turn into a tracking device when Venom fully manifests, and the codex can be destroyed only if one of them dies, so the story is essentially a chase movie through the American Southwest. With Col. Strickland (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and his special forces in pursuit, and an alien-sympathetic scientist, Dr. Payne (Juno Temple), attempting to salvage the specimens, mayhem ensues in and around Area 51, which is about to be decommissioned in three days time.
The desert setting and chomping alien monsters give “The Last Dance” a whiff of “Starship Troopers,” a soupçon of “Tremors,” nodding to those self-consciously campy B-movie creature features of yore. This “Last Dance” may be shaggy, silly and even a little bit stupid — and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, especially when it’s winking so hard at its own genre play.
There is a sense of randomness to this journey, but Hardy’s oddball charm and a great soundtrack go a long way to smooth the bumps in the road. The movie is also an ensemble comedy as Eddie encounters different folks, including an alien-obsessed dad (Rhys Ifans) taking his family on a pilgrimage to Area 51 in their hippiefied Volkswagen bus, and his old pal Mrs. Chen (Peggy Lu), running the slot machines in Vegas. These supporting actors have the important task of playing straight to Venom’s clown. Since Michelle Williams in the first film, it’s imperative that those around Venom understand the assignment but allow him to shine, and this cast never cracks.
Ultimately, though, it’s not the supporting characters, stories, set pieces or special effects that make “Venom” what it is, but rather the chemistry that Hardy has with himself as this dual, dueling characters. Perhaps it’s his friendship with Marcel that makes these movies work, because you genuinely believe in the connection between Eddie and Venom; that they care about each other as much as they squabble. Though the concept itself is running out of gas, and it would be nice to free up Hardy to do other things, it’s a fitting send-off for the cheeky alien with the thousand-watt grin.
Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.
