Action franchises don’t often age like fine wine, but Mission: Impossible seems determined to prove that rule wrong. Since Tom Cruise first donned his IMF gear back in 1996, each new installment has upped the ante—more gravity-defying stunts, more intricate espionage, more ticking time bombs (both literal and emotional). Now, with the release of Mission: Impossible – Final Reckoning, a three-hour epic sprint of chaos and charisma, Ethan Hunt’s final(?) mission cements the franchise’s legacy as one of Hollywood’s most consistent thrill machines.
But even the best legacies have a bump or two. And in a franchise known for precision and spectacle, one entry feels… out of step.
Let’s talk about Mission: Impossible III. The odd duck. The misfit. The movie that, while certainly not bad, ends up ranked lowest when fans stack the deck. And what’s curious—almost cosmic—is that this film shares a surprising trait with one of the most heavily criticized entries from another beloved saga: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker.
What do these two cinematic black sheep have in common? The answer, as it turns out, isn’t hidden beneath layers of fan theory or lore. It’s right there in the credits.
Mission: Impossible III — The Franchise’s Tonal Outlier
Let’s get one thing straight: Mission: Impossible III is not a disaster. It’s got some seriously slick moments, an iconic villain in Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Owen Davian, and Cruise doing what Cruise does best—sprinting through fire, fighting helicopters, and looking seriously intense while doing it. But compared to its siblings—especially the high-flying spectacle of Ghost Protocol and the pulse-pounding Fallout—MI3 feels like it wandered in from a different universe.
Released in 2006, this third installment arrived with the baggage of reinvention. It was the debut feature film of J.J. Abrams, fresh off redefining television with Alias and Lost. And it shows. From the jump, MI3 feels like an extended, emotionally overwrought episode of a TV spy drama.
Gone is the suave, puzzle-box aesthetic of Brian De Palma’s original or the stylistic flourish of John Woo’s Mission: Impossible II. In its place is shaky-cam intimacy, a tortured love story, and Ethan Hunt doing more soul-searching than spy-work.
As Cruise’s Ethan tries to navigate engagement rings and rogue arms dealers, we’re introduced to The Rabbit’s Foot—a mysterious object of global importance… that is never explained. At all.
It’s the purest expression of Abrams’ now-famous (and often infamous) “mystery box” approach. The Rabbit’s Foot is a narrative MacGuffin so vague it could be anything: virus, bomb, alien egg. We’ll never know, and Abrams never intended for us to. It’s there to move the plot, not to be solved.
The Mystery Box Strikes Back — In a Galaxy Not So Far Away
Fast-forward thirteen years. Abrams is now helming Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, the concluding chapter of the Skywalker Saga and one of the most divisive entries in sci-fi history. Once again, the script is drenched in secrets, reveals, and plot detours that feel more like evasions than answers.
Remember Emperor Palpatine’s abrupt resurrection? No context, no buildup—just: “Somehow, Palpatine returned.”
Just like MI3’s Rabbit’s Foot, Palpatine’s comeback is a prime example of that same mystery box storytelling. Both items—or characters—are loaded with significance but starved of substance. They drive the story, but not in a satisfying direction.
The connection between these two missteps? That same creative force behind the camera. “Abrams is known for a particular brand of storytelling: fast-paced, emotionally charged, and full of secrets he never quite explains.”