The Planes franchise remains just as creepily preoccupied with failure and limitations—and the sighing, zen-style acceptance of such—in a force-fed, unnecessary sequel designed around the dynamics of aerial firefighting. The first movie saw cropduster-cum-racer Dusty Crophopper (voiced by the inimitable Dane Cook) struggle with caste and destiny. Now we see him confront the reality of a failing body—life being ripped away from him—and the pain of contemplating a second act right when he ought to be strutting around in his prime. This all might have been fine, if it made my kid smile. Like the first one. But this one didn't. Dusty seemed like he's on a suicide track. The whole thing feels leaden and sad and obvious, starting from its first moments, with a placard praising firefighters preceding any of the action. Public servants are brave, fancy people are fancy and stupid, and duty hurts. The hillbillies this movie seems to be addressing are encouraged to take comfort in all of this. by Denis C. Theriault