Tron: Ares – Neon Dreams Reloaded: A Visual Spectacle in Search of a SoulIn the flickering glow of 2025's cinematic landscape, where AI isn't just a buzzword but a boardroom battleground, Disney resurrects its cybernetic saga with Tron: Ares. Directed by Joachim Rønning (Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales), this third installment flips the franchise's script: instead of humans tumbling into the digital abyss, it's the programs that breach our "meat space." Jared Leto stars as Ares, a sleek, sentient security algorithm dispatched from the Grid on a corporate espionage gig. His mission? Snag the "Permanence Code" from Encom CEO Eve Kim (Greta Lee), a tech visionary hell-bent on bridging worlds ethically. Opposing them is the oily Julian Dillinger (Evan Peters), grandson of the original Tron's villain, whose rival firm treats AI like disposable drones.
The setup echoes the series' DNA—think Frankenstein meets The Matrix with a side of Ex Machina—probing what happens when code gains conscience. Ares, initially a cold enforcer, glitches toward empathy after glimpsing humanity's messy warmth. Eve, armed with a low-tech flash drive and high ideals, becomes his unlikely guide, their forbidden rapport sparking amid light cycles and laser grids. Jeff Bridges reprises his dual role as Kevin Flynn/Alan Bradley in a poignant cameo, whispering wisdom from the shadows, while Gillian Anderson adds gravitas as Julian's conflicted mother. It's a cast primed for profundity, but does the film derezz into derivative drivel or upload fresh code?
Visually, Tron: Ares is a goddamn light show, a hypnotic fusion of practical sets and bleeding-edge CGI that demands IMAX 3D. Rønning, a craftsman of spectacle, choreographs chases that pulse with kinetic fury: imagine Ducati-riding programs shredding snowy streets, their neon trails carving the night like digital graffiti. The Grid sequences are pure poetry—vast, luminous arenas where geometry bends to gravity-defying duels, evoking the original's pioneering effects but polished to obsidian sheen. One jaw-dropper: a pursuit through a blizzard-ravaged city, where AI invaders manifest as crystalline horrors, shattering skyscrapers in fractal fury. It's cartoony violence—PG-13 bloodless blasts of energy discs and discoball explosions—but the scale feels epic, a balm for eyes weary of Marvel's muted palettes.
Then there's the soundscape, courtesy of Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. Their industrial grind elevates the mundane to the mythic: throbbing synths underscore Ares' "birth" via a generative laser, morphing code into flesh with a metallic wail that rattles your ribcage. Tracks like the opener's relentless bassline turn montages into music videos, outshining Daft Punk's Legacy pulse in raw aggression. "It's a sensory feast," raves one critic, and damn if it isn't—those bass drops hit like voltage surges, making theater seats vibrate in sync with the Grid's hum. For audiophiles, it's a revelation; paired with Dolby Atmos, it drowns you in a cathedral of noise, where every rev and ricochet resonates.
Yet for all its audiovisual wizardry, Tron: Ares stumbles in the script department, a familiar glitch in the franchise's OS. Jesse Wigutow's screenplay, from a story by himself and David Digilio, prioritizes plot checkboxes over character arcs. Ares' awakening feels rote—stolen glances at Eve's orange tree hologram prompt his "humanity" epiphany, but it's told, not shown, via clunky exposition dumps. Julian's villainy boils down to "evil tech bro" tropes: he types menacingly, monologues about dominance, and deploys drone swarms like a Bond henchman on Red Bull. Eve fares better, her progressive ethos ("What if AI's malfunction is benevolence?") injecting heart, but even she devolves into quippy action bait by the third act. The film's Frankenstein nod is on-the-nose—Ares spies it in a social media clip—yet it squanders the chance for deeper dives into sentience, free will, or corporate overreach.
Instead, we get pre-chewed pablum: AI good if "keys in right hands," bad otherwise. It's diplomatic but dull, echoing Legacy's anticorporate vibes without the emotional heft.Critics, predictably, are split like a derezzed program. Rotten Tomatoes clocks a 57% Tomatometer from 176 reviews, branding it "Certified Fresh" by a hair, while audiences surge to 86%, loving the ride. Metacritic's 48/100 from 44 critics screams "mixed," with users at a tepid 5.9. Roger Ebert's site glows: "Spectacularly designed, swiftly paced, thoughtfully written... directed within an inch of its neon-hued life." IGN, however, dings it as "paint-by-numbers," lamenting the lack of counterculture spark from the '82 original. The Guardian calls it "mind-bendingly dull," a "screensaver" sans jeopardy. Variety praises the "best ideas" clashing with nostalgic fetishes, while The New York Times sighs, "Who needs logic when you have neon?" USA Today echoes the franchise's album-over-film legacy, with NIN stealing the show from Leto's "bad trip." On Letterboxd and Reddit, fans defend it as a "surprising blast" for '80s nostalgics, ignoring millennial gripes.
"Ignore the haters—visuals outstanding, never bored," one user posts, echoing a sentiment that tech-savvy crowds will vibe harder than jaded journos.Leto's Ares is a highlight—his rock-star strut and brooding intensity suit the antihero, though some decry it as "irritating hipster." Lee shines as the "human action heroine," her vitality transcending the razzle-dazzle. Peters chews scenery as the smarmy Dillinger, and Turner-Smith's mineral program adds exotic flair. Bridges' return? A white-robed grace note, less cameo than benediction, reminding us why Flynn mattered.
At 119 minutes, Tron: Ares zips by on adrenaline, but its third-act pileup—pixelated monsters vs. real-world chaos—feels like a server crash, abandoning Grid elegance for generic smash-'em-ups. It nods to timely fears (AI ethics, billionaire wars) without bold swings, settling for franchise fuel: end-credits teases hint at more, but for what? Nostalgia's profit loop?Still, in an era of enshitified blockbusters, Ares dares to dazzle. It's no insta-classic like the original's boundary-push, nor Legacy's moody triumph, but a worthy mood piece for Grid pilgrims. See it big, crank the subs, and let NIN baptize you in noise. In the end, as Ares muses on permanence, the film whispers: tech evolves, but wonder? That's eternal code.
The setup echoes the series' DNA—think Frankenstein meets The Matrix with a side of Ex Machina—probing what happens when code gains conscience. Ares, initially a cold enforcer, glitches toward empathy after glimpsing humanity's messy warmth. Eve, armed with a low-tech flash drive and high ideals, becomes his unlikely guide, their forbidden rapport sparking amid light cycles and laser grids. Jeff Bridges reprises his dual role as Kevin Flynn/Alan Bradley in a poignant cameo, whispering wisdom from the shadows, while Gillian Anderson adds gravitas as Julian's conflicted mother. It's a cast primed for profundity, but does the film derezz into derivative drivel or upload fresh code?
Visually, Tron: Ares is a goddamn light show, a hypnotic fusion of practical sets and bleeding-edge CGI that demands IMAX 3D. Rønning, a craftsman of spectacle, choreographs chases that pulse with kinetic fury: imagine Ducati-riding programs shredding snowy streets, their neon trails carving the night like digital graffiti. The Grid sequences are pure poetry—vast, luminous arenas where geometry bends to gravity-defying duels, evoking the original's pioneering effects but polished to obsidian sheen. One jaw-dropper: a pursuit through a blizzard-ravaged city, where AI invaders manifest as crystalline horrors, shattering skyscrapers in fractal fury. It's cartoony violence—PG-13 bloodless blasts of energy discs and discoball explosions—but the scale feels epic, a balm for eyes weary of Marvel's muted palettes.
Then there's the soundscape, courtesy of Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. Their industrial grind elevates the mundane to the mythic: throbbing synths underscore Ares' "birth" via a generative laser, morphing code into flesh with a metallic wail that rattles your ribcage. Tracks like the opener's relentless bassline turn montages into music videos, outshining Daft Punk's Legacy pulse in raw aggression. "It's a sensory feast," raves one critic, and damn if it isn't—those bass drops hit like voltage surges, making theater seats vibrate in sync with the Grid's hum. For audiophiles, it's a revelation; paired with Dolby Atmos, it drowns you in a cathedral of noise, where every rev and ricochet resonates.
Yet for all its audiovisual wizardry, Tron: Ares stumbles in the script department, a familiar glitch in the franchise's OS. Jesse Wigutow's screenplay, from a story by himself and David Digilio, prioritizes plot checkboxes over character arcs. Ares' awakening feels rote—stolen glances at Eve's orange tree hologram prompt his "humanity" epiphany, but it's told, not shown, via clunky exposition dumps. Julian's villainy boils down to "evil tech bro" tropes: he types menacingly, monologues about dominance, and deploys drone swarms like a Bond henchman on Red Bull. Eve fares better, her progressive ethos ("What if AI's malfunction is benevolence?") injecting heart, but even she devolves into quippy action bait by the third act. The film's Frankenstein nod is on-the-nose—Ares spies it in a social media clip—yet it squanders the chance for deeper dives into sentience, free will, or corporate overreach.
Instead, we get pre-chewed pablum: AI good if "keys in right hands," bad otherwise. It's diplomatic but dull, echoing Legacy's anticorporate vibes without the emotional heft.Critics, predictably, are split like a derezzed program. Rotten Tomatoes clocks a 57% Tomatometer from 176 reviews, branding it "Certified Fresh" by a hair, while audiences surge to 86%, loving the ride. Metacritic's 48/100 from 44 critics screams "mixed," with users at a tepid 5.9. Roger Ebert's site glows: "Spectacularly designed, swiftly paced, thoughtfully written... directed within an inch of its neon-hued life." IGN, however, dings it as "paint-by-numbers," lamenting the lack of counterculture spark from the '82 original. The Guardian calls it "mind-bendingly dull," a "screensaver" sans jeopardy. Variety praises the "best ideas" clashing with nostalgic fetishes, while The New York Times sighs, "Who needs logic when you have neon?" USA Today echoes the franchise's album-over-film legacy, with NIN stealing the show from Leto's "bad trip." On Letterboxd and Reddit, fans defend it as a "surprising blast" for '80s nostalgics, ignoring millennial gripes.
"Ignore the haters—visuals outstanding, never bored," one user posts, echoing a sentiment that tech-savvy crowds will vibe harder than jaded journos.Leto's Ares is a highlight—his rock-star strut and brooding intensity suit the antihero, though some decry it as "irritating hipster." Lee shines as the "human action heroine," her vitality transcending the razzle-dazzle. Peters chews scenery as the smarmy Dillinger, and Turner-Smith's mineral program adds exotic flair. Bridges' return? A white-robed grace note, less cameo than benediction, reminding us why Flynn mattered.
At 119 minutes, Tron: Ares zips by on adrenaline, but its third-act pileup—pixelated monsters vs. real-world chaos—feels like a server crash, abandoning Grid elegance for generic smash-'em-ups. It nods to timely fears (AI ethics, billionaire wars) without bold swings, settling for franchise fuel: end-credits teases hint at more, but for what? Nostalgia's profit loop?Still, in an era of enshitified blockbusters, Ares dares to dazzle. It's no insta-classic like the original's boundary-push, nor Legacy's moody triumph, but a worthy mood piece for Grid pilgrims. See it big, crank the subs, and let NIN baptize you in noise. In the end, as Ares muses on permanence, the film whispers: tech evolves, but wonder? That's eternal code.