THREEQUELS: When the third time isn't the charm

Three, like they sang on Schoolhouse Rock, is a magic number. Look at all the fabulous and fine things that come in threes: wise men, Stooges, Mandrell Sisters, lives in a game of Pac-Man.

But magic, just like the ghosts in Pac-Man, can also turn unexpectedly and bite you on the fanny. Three is also the number of strikes, Furies, witches in Macbeth, and usually the number at which movie series start to stink.

Paramount Pictures (enlarge photo) THE UNNECESSARY: Tom Cruise in 'Mission: Impossible III.' Hadn't we seen enough of Ethan Hunt? Read reviews of 'X-Men: The Last Stand.'

X-Men: The Last Stand, is the third installment of the X-Men saga of intense mutant revolution, discrimination and the evolution of Halle Berry's white fright wig (it's a bob now!). The Last Stand joins the current gigantor blockbuster Mission: Impossible III, a fun, blow-up-go-boom movie that's less a sequel than the longest, most expensive episode of Alias ever made, with Tom Cruise subbing for Jennifer Garner — thankfully without the red wig or leather minis.

The Last Stand is based on a comic book, so while there's no shortage of story to tell, another sequel always presents another chance to screw up a good thing. And M:I3 turned out to be more fun and less "Hey, look at little Tom act with his nostrils!" than M:I2, but I still left the theater feeling like I had sufficient closure on my relationship with Agent Ethan Hunt and his merry band of derring-doers. And if we never actually kept in touch or sent postcards or anything, I'd be cool with that.

This has me thinking: Most of the movies that get sequels weren't really crying out for a second act, let alone a third, storyline-wise: I don't think anybody left Big Momma's House scratching their chins saying "That was wonderful, with the wig and the fat suit and all. Yet ... so many unanswered questions!"

But back in the day, some of your best movies were just begging for a second chapter, that sometimes turned out to be as good as, if not better than, the first. Behold: The Empire Strikes Back. The Godfather Part II. Superman II. Aliens. There was more drama, more action, more nail-biting tension and usually a lot more "Woah!" moments.

However, just like cranky toddlers pushing Mommy's last nerve right into a time-out, Hollywood just doesn't know when to leave well enough alone, and has produced no shortage of substandard threequels, if you will. Two has often proven to be the magic number, whereas three sometimes smacked of desperation and "The director's yacht payments are dang expensive."

The Empire Strikes Back, for instance, was a thrilling combination of swash and buckle, romance, the betrayal of Colt 45 spokesplayer Billy Dee "Lando" Williams and Days of Our Lives-worthy revelations (i.e.: that girl you were kissing is your twin, and that eeevil mastermind who just sliced off your light saber hand is your father).

However, The Return of the Jedi, the third installment, was overrun with goofy effects, oozy intergalactic puppets (Jabba The Hutt! The horror! The horror!), and a chorus of annoyingly gibberish-speaking forest-dwelling Furby things that hijacked the plot and turned what was becoming a deliciously dark saga into a big song and dance number — The Muppets Take Endor.

So, to review — with two, you get Lando. With three, you get Ewok.

The scene-stealing Teddy Ruxpins aren't the only example of threequel abuse. Superman went from the coolly vicious Terrence Stamp in Part 2 to the beloved but weirdly miscast Richard Pryor in Part 3. In Rocky II, our champ finally beats Apollo Creed, but in Part III, he's pitying the fool with Mr. T (I paid to see it, so the fool is probably me.) Alien 3, Jaws 3-D, The Matrix Revolutions. Die Harder ... all part threes. All exercises in patience and reason to bring a book, a pillow and a snack to the theater.

The most egregious threequel is the Godfather series, which has the dubious distinction of including both the best movie ever made, and the worst. In Part II, we learn the dark origins of young Don Vito Corleone, featuring Robert De Niro at the height of his sexy mongoose powers, as well as what happens when a dimmer, jealous brother takes on his colder-by-the-second brilliant brother (the answer: nothing good). When Michael (Al Pacino) has Fredo (John Cazale) killed on a fishing trip and banishes his wife when he finds out she's had an abortion, we wept for the sensitive smart man he could've been and the futility of violence.

And then we went on with our lives.

But 16 years later, when director Francis Ford Coppola said he had another act in him, we were so in love with the Corleones that we signed on for what turned out to be a cinematic horse's head in the bed of our good intentions. What in the Luca Brasi was going on? Michael's mono-syllabic daughter's sleeping with her skeevy cousin? Sister Connie's killing people with poisoned cannoli? It all started out so promisingly, but ended like a Saturday Night Live skit. The bad ones they show at 1 a.m.

If The Last Stand makes as much money as M:I3 did, both may one day get Part Fours. And while they'll probably contribute handsomely to the college funds of the offspring of Hugh Jackman and TomKat, I wonder if they'll contribute anything to the movie landscape but another explosion. Whoopee.