Metacritic reviews

Dashing across the screen in all its bloody, gilded glory, the awesome and beautiful Immortals marks an all-win scenario.

Spectacle and spectacular are often confused for one another in stories of epic adventure, but Immortals is the rare film where they are one and the same.

Thrills are in short supply, but so are annoyances. This is a maintenance-free ride.

A popcorn movie has one goal, and that's to entertain. Immortals meets this criteria handily, and serves as a splendid spectacle besides.

What undercuts sharper than Poseidon's trident is a script that sees its characters as cardboard, not flesh and blood. For a film meant to be spectacle over substance, it's not a fatal blow. But it is a mortal wound.

I realize that making Immortals immortal was way too much to ask, but frankly, just a shade more plausible, not to mention pleasurable, would have been nice.

Immortals is not only entirely without humor, but is dominated by a lot of huffing and puffing, thunderous self-importance and windy Socratic quotations about the immortality and divinity of men's souls. You just have to roll your eyes after a while.

Navigating the film's mounting erotic bloodlust proves tedious, until the show-stopping final battle between gods and Titans in one chamber, Theseus and Hyperion in another, at which point logic melts away completely and the pic's raison d'etre emerges -- namely, to justify staging a fight scene for the ages.

The film manages one grand "300″ moment, Cavill rallying troops for battle, doing his best Gerard Butler. But the lack of humor, the confusing, stumbling story and limited color palette blunt the film's 3D slo-mo shots of heads exploding and torsos torn asunder by the sword.

Immortals is the latest disaster of post-conversion 3-D, a projected spectacle so dark it is literally hard to see. This is an ugly, burlap sack of a film, stitched with jagged seams and overstuffed with computer-generated chintz, gold-lamé leotards and fetishistic headgear.