A review of Wrath of the Titans that's actually an excuse to talk about the curious case of Sam Worthington

Like everyone else with a few working braincells, I haven't got the foggiest idea why $150 million was spent on a sequel to one of the dullest films of recent years, but at least with this instalment you can hope they've learned from their past mistakes and kicked off 2012's blockbuster season with a idiotic but entertaining 100 minute movie, but alas, that is not the case. It turns out that Wrath is almost identical to Clash; they both feature completely bland and redundant female "characters", Liam Neeson and Ralph Fiennes hamming it up for dear life (and not in a fun Nicolas Cage way), eye-blurringly awful 3D and a leading man so dry I had an urge to throw my travel size bottle of Johnson's Baby Oil at the IMAX screen.

What is it about Sam Worthington? He's Australian, he's male and he's Australian - three sure-fire ways to capture my heart, but there's just one problem: HE. IS. DULL. He over-shadowed Christian Bale in Terminator: Salvation but that's been forgotten thanks to endless performances that have zero charm, zero charisma, zero humour and approximately 1.5 facial expressions combined. Gossip about the private lives of Tom Cruise, Will Smith and George Clooney all you want, but at least those guys are movie stars; movie stars who carry films and have the ability to make every retina in a cinema focus on them. I really want to like Worthington and have heard he's one of the nicest blokes in the business, but fucking hell, he's the only actor alive who's more of a movie star in real life than on the big screen. If Gosling is a moreish bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and Clooney is champagne breakfast in a swish hotel, Worthington is a few Weetabix biscuits with a dribble of water and not even a dash of bloody sugar. DO NOT WANT.
I don't get it. But still, even he is better than Wrath of the Titans, which tells you all you need to know about that.