There are films that thrill you with novelty, others that charm you with nostalgia. Fountain of Youth, Guy Ritchie’s new adventure flick starring John Krasinski and Natalie Portman, tries very hard to do both, but somehow ends up like a carefully packed suitcase filled with all the right clothes in all the wrong sizes. It’s not a disaster—far from it. But it’s a movie that makes you wonder if the treasure map it followed was drawn with a Sharpie over a laminated photocopy of Indiana Jones, The Da Vinci Code, and National Treasure, all taped together at a Soho House bar.
Fountain of Youth
Let me say this right off the bat: I don’t hate this movie. Despite its narrative cribbing and its tone that teeters awkwardly between earnestness and irony, Fountain of Youth is a watchable, often dazzling romp through art museums, ancient ruins, and digital matte paintings of Cairo at sunset. It’s just that you might come away feeling like you’ve seen it all before—because you absolutely have. But you’ll have a decent time seeing it again.
John Krasinski plays Luke Purdue (yes, like the chicken brand), an adventurer of the snarky and well-moisturized variety. The opening scenes lay it on thick: he’s got the leather jacket, the daddy issues, the half-sincere quips about danger being his middle name. He’s not bad at it—Krasinski’s natural charisma and his “I did a TED Talk once” vibe give him a vaguely plausible aura as a global tomb raider. But he’s no Harrison Ford, and crucially, the movie knows it. Rather than try to remake Indy, it filters him through millennial self-awareness.
Enter Natalie Portman as Charlotte, Luke’s estranged sister and the heart of the movie. Where Luke is reckless, Charlotte is grounded. Where he believes adventure justifies all means, she’s the film’s skeptical conscience, rolling her eyes hard enough to shift tectonic plates. Portman is effortlessly engaging, and while the script gives her more exposition than character at times, she squeezes real emotion into the crevices.
The plot, such as it is, revolves around a dying billionaire (played with twitchy charm by Domhnall Gleeson) who bankrolls a mission to find the mythical Fountain of Youth. It involves decoding clues hidden in six Renaissance paintings by masters like Caravaggio and El Greco. There are secret codes, lost maps, leather-bound tomes, and plenty of swooping drone shots over exotic cities. Bangkok. Vienna. Cairo. You know the drill. It’s a travel influencer’s dream filtered through the Adobe Premiere LUT pack labeled “Mysterious Sunsets.”
Guy Ritchie, a director who once turned slow-motion punch-ups into high art (Sherlock Holmes) and East End gangster patter into Shakespearean opera (Snatch), doesn’t seem fully at home here. His signature visual flourishes—quick cuts, cheeky montages, non-linear flashbacks—are present but muted, like a band playing beneath a silk curtain. It’s as if he’s trying to channel Spielberg but keeps slipping into Ritchieisms, resulting in a tone that can feel uneven. One moment we’re in earnest mythological territory, the next we’re doing Guy Ritchie’s version of a Bond gadget scene, complete with a tranquilizer perfume.
Still, credit where it’s due: the film moves. The pacing is brisk, the set pieces well-staged. There’s a genuinely fun museum heist in Vienna involving a faulty elevator, a laser grid, and a painting that won’t come off the wall. The soundtrack veers between orchestral bombast and brooding electronic flourishes. The cinematography by Alan Stewart is pristine, every frame composed like an Apple TV screensaver. It’s all very slick, and that slickness can be seductive—until you realize it’s also what keeps you at arm’s length.
Character depth is where Fountain of Youth falters. Luke is likable but never quite real. His arc—if you can call it that—moves from glib arrogance to slightly less glib humility. Charlotte has more texture, especially in her moments of doubt and confrontation with their father’s legacy. The film gestures at themes of mortality, legacy, and the perils of obsession, but never stops long enough to really wrestle with them. It wants to be profound, but only in the way a motivational poster in a WeWork kitchen is profound.
Still, there are moments that work. Arian Moayed, playing a houndstooth-loving police inspector, steals scenes with understated charm. Gleeson, as the dying tech mogul whose motives darken over time, gets some chewy monologues about the price of immortality. Even Eiza González, stuck with a character whose motivations shift more often than the script can justify, finds a few human beats amid the spectacle.
Ultimately, Fountain of Youth is less a revelation than a competent remix. It doesn’t insult your intelligence, but it won’t provoke much introspection either. It’s a film that knows the appeal of a good old-fashioned treasure hunt, even if it’s a bit rusty on why we fell in love with them in the first place. Think of it like a deluxe reissue of a classic album: glossier, louder, and engineered for modern tastes, but still chasing the ghost of a sound that can’t quite be replicated.
Would I recommend it? Sure. Especially on a lazy weekend night when you want some escapism with attractive people running around mysterious places saying things like “We’re not so different, you and I” and “Some things are meant to stay lost.” Just don’t expect it to leave a lasting impression once the credits roll.
Fountain of Youth is a polished, globe-trotting adventure that gets by on charisma, competence, and cinematography, even if it never finds the soul of the stories it borrows from. Fun, fleeting, and just fresh enough to avoid the label of pure pastiche.
