The Mission: Impossible franchise would have you believe it’s in on the joke. And I believe it sincerely thinks it is. But when there are multiple extended sequences of Tom Cruise sprinting across elevated terrain—his signature robot arms pumping up and down—with no visible wink from director Christopher McQuarrie, it’s hard to believe this eighth installment has any real grasp of how silly it truly is.
On one level, this is the purest form of camp: utterly sincere and without self-awareness or pretension. Sometimes, that’s a recipe for fun. But at a bloated runtime nearing three grueling hours, only the most committed fans will walk out of the theater without a groan.
That said, Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning does impressively build momentum as it goes—a rarity in the action blockbuster genre, where so many films start strong and unravel. Unfortunately, its first half plays like a bloated clip show: a clunky collage of the previous seven entries, retroactively trying to connect them with the obsessive energy of the Saw franchise. Instead, it lands closer to Silent Night, Deadly Night 2, infamously padded with recycled footage from its predecessor.
Picking up after the nonsensical chaos of Dead Reckoning: Part One, this rebranded follow-up dives headfirst into its central threat: an all-powerful, near-supernatural AI that has infiltrated every network and device, promising imminent global destruction. Only Ethan Hunt—Tom Cruise’s long-standing, watered-down American James Bond—and his ragtag, awkwardly diverse team can stop it. The premise is so overwrought and foolish that you either roll with it or suffer through the darkness. It’s cinematic hostage-taking, and we’re forced to choose our reaction.
And sure, the overcooked idea of a cloud-based AI demon threatening the planet is a choice, but there’s some twisted poetry in it being Hunt’s final foe. After all, Cruise himself has never looked more robotic—his yassified, smooth features resembling an AI-generated avatar. The irony that the very technology this film warns us about likely helped construct its leading man is its own impossible-to-ignore mission. Cruise and the film’s faceless, voiceless AI villain are a match made in uncanny valley heaven. It’s the only fitting final boss for a star so flattened, so emotionally and visually neutered, that ChatGPT feels like a worthy nemesis.
While Cruise often feels lifeless and mechanical, the supporting cast adds much-needed warmth. Standout Pom Klementieff returns as Paris, switching allegiances and delivering cutting bluntness with scene-stealing flair. Simon Pegg remains a reliable source of charm and human presence. And the film’s unexpected MVP? Nunavut’s own Lucy Tulugarjuk, whose razor-sharp comedic timing cuts through even when she’s underutilized—or worse, cast as a thinly sketched “wise magical Eskimo” trope. Despite the limited material, she shines and earns your affection with ease.
Ultimately, the reason people show up to these films doesn’t disappoint: the stunts. Cruise and McQuarrie clearly take their “go bigger every time” mission seriously, and The Final Reckoning doesn’t cut corners. Its third act is jaw-dropping in its practical, escalating madness—brazenly defying death just days ahead of Final Destination’s own cinematic return.
That said, I still found myself struggling to stay awake—even when the film was at its most impressive. Maybe that’s a personal taste issue. Or maybe it’s the film’s fault for being so astoundingly dumb in parts. Cruise, resembling AI more and more, is clearly doing the work. And you can’t argue that the team behind this isn’t passionate about their bloated, ridiculous spectacle. And for that, I have to give them credit.
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