He awakens, after a very boring apocalyptic dream-vision, in a Florentine hospital suffering from a head injury and amnesia. Tom Hanks is back – his capacity for wit and ironic charm once again wasted on the role of Dr Robert Langdon, an academic who is sort of a brainier, duller Indiana Jones. What you’re left with is story and character and both are as flat as old, cold pancakes. These bestsellers’ emphasis on culture and art history is refreshingly high-minded in a way, but it has long since dawned on fans and non-fans alike that his wildly silly stories and their concealed clues won’t lead you to anything exciting or insightful about Christianity or the Renaissance any more than Platform 9 3/4 at King’s Cross will lead you to a school for wizards. All the excitement has long since transferred to girls on trains or 50 shades of grey. Here is the third Dan Brown film, after The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons, but it now seems an awfully long time since his super-tourist semiology thrillers were in any way hot.
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