Dwight Yoakam has a cowboy hat on (shock horror) in this cliche-ridden snorefest, and the moment I saw his vexing, talentless chops I knew this movie would be shite. The stinking screenplay underpins an acting troupe from Hell. The wee kid in this is so annoying I was praying that the chicken ate him.
Funny moment was Clint rejecting the advances of a hooker because he has better things to do. I had better things to do, also, so made the executive decision to terminate the 48 minutes I endured of this terrible flick and proceeded to go for a dump.
An hour of breezy climbing-the-ladder banter, researched kind of well but still replete with whopping inaccuracies, Vice (2018) holds in admiration its protagonist’s uncanny appreciation of the mechanisms of power. Perfectly decent performances and a freewheeling narrative structure lost my interest just when events should have made the content interesting. It got decidedly shite by the last throes and I had no choice but to turn the farce off once the director broke the fourth/fifth/sixth wall.
Perhaps there wasn’t much human substance there to document beyond 60 mins.
Ah, yes. It’s 1989 and Back to the Future Part II has ended on a cliffhanger and it’s a ‘To Be Concluded’. But nah, here’s a preview at the end credits to the final installment which is on its way very soon. Audacious.
It’s a promising premise that gradually feels like it’s segueing into gritty Euro thriller territory, a mature version of Taken (2008), but sadly doesn’t. We have a barely interesting character study by the end and the decisions the lad makes don’t appear logical (or believable).
I almost wished it to descend into mindless bone-crunching mayhem. Just for the ‘lolz’.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990) is a severely underappreciated movie.
It is dark, gritty, and violent; I’m shocked it was released as a PG-13. I find it highly amusing that they are tutored by this fuck-off rat with a Japanese accent. It’s a demonstration of respecting your elders.
The movie perfectly captures how bad New York was during that H. W. Bush era, a post-Reagan hangover from hell with crack epidemics, failed economics, and generally being surrounded by cunts. The picture, incredibly, almost approaches Scorsese in this regard.
Movies concerning sharks are usually a bit of fun, aren’t they?
The material will either be masterpiece-level cinema (Quint monologues), or guiltily enjoyable schlock (genius sharks swimming backwards). Actually, there is no middle ground in what is after all a genre about sharks.
And this frightfest from the deep?
Brainy people acting most stupidly through their unchecked arrogance, the treat their comeuppance.
I jettisoned the subtitles for the dubbing, just so it would be that wee bit more amusing. It was rubbish but funny, even if the premise trumped the end result.
Hated this, absolutely with unbridled passion hated it.
It’s about a shoe designer (of all professions to put in movie) who fouls up. There’s lots of quirky scenes and grating use of obvious songs the director plonks on top of them. It’s Jerry Maguire-lite – very lite. It’s for some reason beyond my comprehension rammed with solid acting talent, but they all phone it in.
Orlando Bloom is the big cheese and not only can he not act, he can’t even summon the internal forces to compose a voice-over without sounding like a wee fanny. He has got to be the worst thespian that has ever been shat onto celluloid, and I’m happy that I don’t have to see him these days on those posters you get on the side of buses. I’ve seen junkies with sob stories and they are more convincing than Orlando Bloom.
The director’s infuriating obsession with a character saying something offbeat and then cutting to blank stares of a group of extras – this was the worst stylistic choice in a movie rammed with suffocating whims.
I didn’t buy a single moment of this joke of a film which has BIG THEMES but treats them with the facile delicacy of a flick featuring Orlando Bloom.
It’s even worse than Garden State (2004), and Bloom makes Zach Braff look like that movie’s Marlon Brando 2.0.
Sourced this from IMDB as I couldn’t be arsed typing it:
‘At the end, Drew’s voiceover says, “The motto of the British Special Service Airforce is ‘those who risk, win’.” The unit is actually called the “Special Air Service”, it is a special forces unit and not an air force at all, and the motto is “Who Dares Wins”.’
That defines the movie for me. The cunts who made it can’t even get their facts right.
This is sadly pathetic when you consider the material at your disposal and all the talent on display.
The grinning Brian Cox is the only thesp in it who seems to be aware that he’s starring in a godawful pile of hokum. And he steals the movie.
The rest: crappy cinematography, derivative battles and sword fights, Orlando Bloom once gain displaying his inability to act a lick. What else? James Horner utilising the same score he’s used in a hundred other films (maybe I’m exaggerating), and dialogue so cringe you’d think Ed Wood Jr. was on scriptwriting duties.
A motion picture which is balls. But it has a certain appeal in that it’s a lesson in how to make proper drivel.
This vexed me from the start with the black-and-white archive footage and grating music. Thousands of films do this for exposition and it’s rarely with effect.
It’s just so boring. It’s a safe, BORING movie about cars. Such an extraordinary director. The subject matter, boringly, appears to have dictated everything in this. Cars. Engines. How fascinating …. I cannot relay a single memorable image or sequence from this sad film. Which is quite sad.
Show me something stylish, make a moment lasting, give me the MANN TREATMENT. Nah, this was your biopic about a car-person featuring the most wooden actor ever to feature in a Star Wars movie. And on that topic, those rancid sequel flicks will hopefully be consigned to the garage bin.
I turned this off after 57 minutes.
I was fuming at how silly and crap this movie was.
This is the best-looking movie about gruesome happenings of the soul and imagination.
You’re seduced, almost, into its albeit engrossing web of cruelty through the outrageous grandiosity of its style; it’s obsessively framed and lit. Yet it somehow never descends into the pretentious, a rare movie that pulls off its conceit.
And Michael Shannon is in it and he can do no wrong.
This is a good movie in a landscape of capes and all that.
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Wanderings and ... wonderings. 