Wanderings and … wonderings.

I hated this movie not for its message but because of how stupid and ineptly shit it was. The cinematographer appears to think that a telephoto shot of a person, without any relationship to his environment, is somehow visually arresting. You don’t have any sense of geography within the scene. What else?

The worst piece of writing has two lads playing basketball telling the audience that Mad Mel is a war college graduate and academic baller. Because he has to be infallible.

And then the truly non-talented, un-talented Sam Elliot arrives with his usual grouchy schtick. The bloke is an utter pain to movies, and there is no point to him.

I hate films like this.

Because they’re stupid.

A blow-by-blow history lesson overstuffed with unnecessary voice-over, but it’s almost worth watching just to witness Lane Smith as Tricky Dick.

I perceived myself to be in a precarious position, uncomfortably viewing the editor from Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman (1993-1997) fiddle, half-pished, with a 1970s tape device (whatever they were), but it was a privileged prism through which to appreciate the final days of Richard Milhous Nixon.

Waste of time. But I’ve seen worse movies. There’s always a more rotten film.

Try getting this slice of ’90s nostalgia out of your head:

It’s obviously ravenous for Oscars, and it’s obviously a Ron Howard movie. And Renée Zellweger produces one of her worst shamelessly squeaky ‘performances’. Can this person act in anything? Rhetorical question alert. She’s an utter pain in everything, a desperate, squishy, attention-seeking pain.

Fortunately, Ms. Painweger doesn’t sink the movie, which is as formulaic as they come but not without merit. The boxing stuff is fabulous, not exactly Raging Bull (1980), but what could be? Only an 18 certificate and Martin Scorsese are capable of somehow transforming the brutality of the sport into impressionist art.

The Great Depression stuff is the main draw, and it’s fucking depressing. Economic meltdown. People turning on people. Ordinarily respectable folk resorting to crime. The themes are contentious: put everything into land or brick and mortar. Money is illusory. And no one knows anything.

Something like that.

What a slog this was! John Woo appears to have slept through the filming process as it’s so anonymous and so non-distinct in its framing and editing you’d never have guessed he directed it.

Highlight is the incongruous score that somehow featured in Scream 2 (1997).

The rest is balls.

This was excellent throughout, with Dennis Quaid doing his serious thing with aplomb, and the always interesting Stellan Skarsgård in a typically strong supporting turn. He even sparks up a doobie at one point.

Impressive.