Tech-wise, Joseph Kosinski’s reboot-cum-sequel of Steven Lisberger’s 1982 cult artefact trumps its predecessor’s 1.0 then-revolutionary effects. It allows more choreographic dimension and flexibility to the film’s light-cycle races and disc-throwing gladiatorial battles that weren’t possible 30 years ago. And those moments when Legacy opens up to IMAX proportions (its impact obviously lost at home), we again get flashes of the format’s immersive potential to generate a heart-thumping kick to the system. But let’s face it: it’s a lame movie. The skin-tight, posterior-shaping neon-striped suits and twirling light trails might look a tad jazzier, but Legacy’s upgrade only amplifies the lameness of the original minus its time-capsule likeability. It’s a glorified motion-master ride that discharges levels of CGI cornea abuse and motion nausea that bring back memories of the Wachowskis’ misbegotten Speed Racer. But whereas that film sporadically pushed the edge of taste and sanity to qualify as some kind of must-see misfire, Legacy is just two hours of oppressive, arbitrarily plotted dullness. Miscast lead Hedlund is in serious need of a personality transplant, forcing Bridges to do the heavy lifting and make any of the father-son heart-to-hearts even remotely matter.