Voyage of the Dawn Treader isn't a particularly cinematic book—it's more of a meandering series of parables—so the adaptation is rather impressive. But still, it's silly:
Turns out, they "have to" help King Caspian collect seven magic swords from seven lost lords (wait, why again?) and deliver them to Aslan's all-you-can-eat fruit buffet at the end of the world. This is the only way to defeat an evil green mist that is creeping around Narnia, and which may or may not have something to do with Tilda Swinton (a movie needs a villain, after all). Along the way, Lucy decides she's super ugly and won't stop crying, Edmund goes BONKERS FOR GOLD, the talking mouse never shuts up, and every 12 seconds someone says something like "To defeat the darkness out there, you must defeat the darkness inside yourselves."
There's lots of Jesus stuff at the end, but overall it's a pretty good afternoon timewaster if you like magical shit.
More importantly, though, I've got something to say.
There's this whole prepubescent angst storyline in Dawn Treader where Lucy is obsessed with becoming "beautiful" like Susan, and does this constant jealous pre-teen googoo flirtation with Caspian—like her whole deal here is "when will I EVER get to grow up and get to bang dudes? What will that FEEL like!?"
But here's the fucking creepy thing about Chronicles of Narnia. LUCY. YOU ALREADY DID ALL THAT, REMEMBER? As I wrote in my Prince Caspian review:
The story takes place hundreds of years after the events of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (at the end of which, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie—who had already, you know, gone through puberty and been courted by swarthy Calormene princes and ruled a country for at least a decade—were abruptly transformed back into tiny British children).
Lucy, I do not buy your supposed tween confusion. You already know exactly what you're going to look like when you grow up, because you already grew up. You grow up to be medium-beautiful—not as beautiful as Susan, but that's okay because (spoiler alert!) she's too skanky to get into heaven at the end (true story).
Anyway, how fucked up is that? If I, 28-year-old Lindy West were to be suddenly transported back into the body of 11-year-old Lindy West, but with my current adult brain, would that not be the creepiest child of all time? I'd just be running all over the place, drunk on gin and tonics, screaming expletives and trying to have sex with adult men.
Gross. Narnia is weird. (I love it.)