A mentally unhinged cluster of psychopaths managed to hijack a state and proceed to massacre hundreds of millions beyond their own country, putting their own in Gulags. An ideology which doesn’t even acknowledge its own nonsensical dialectic should be looked at. It’s a religion for the worst.
Now that’s out of the way, let’s get to the movie.
I have a lot of time for Warren Beatty. He’s a one-man show with proper acting ability. Quite the handsome lad, I would say.
The film:
I fell asleep around the 15-minute mark. Seemed rubbish. Wikipedia informed me how it ends.
Was expecting a lot more from this one considering the thesps involved.
It was so dull and grim, the story better left to the stage than the possibilities of cinema. And it’s not much of a story. I was mostly bored and halfway through could see what was coming.
Last year’s The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) came to mind in its tedium.
Highlight of this is Tom Berenger turning up dressed like Dick Tracy.
One of the worst movies I have seen in a very long time. Apparently, it’s a ground-breaking allegory.
Lazy writing, boring tropes, shot like a student movie, infuriating stupidity as a concept. Every character a plonker. And overwhelmingly boring.
Hated it after 20 mins. It didn’t help matters that the bloke who Pacino choke-held at the dinner party in Scent of a Woman (1992) stars in it wearing a polo neck.
0/5.
I don’t enjoy ranting about some films but I’m just trying to save others, aye.
The lines weren’t delivered with any conviction at all. It’s just the writer/director shoehorning his own real-life monologues into every scene. The movie is essentially a rant.
Nice bit of attempted world building but it’s all superfluous. And lots of stoic, emotionless men sighing. Over and over and over.
The Holy Trinity (Predator, Die Hard, Red October) with the Bruce Willis gem at the centre, McTiernan redefined or perhaps created the modern action film, a wee cradle of movies with wit, imagination, state of the art pyrotechnics, and an unnerving ability for shot selection. You can’t lose that talent, despite the Odysseus-long hiatus from a camera-wielding exploit.
He’s back from Shawshank as a model ex-prisoner.
John, just get a camera, sound kit, and a few pals together and make a short your new calling card.
The Trinity Test is the centrepiece, and what a magnificent, wholly cinematic build-up and pay-off it is, pure controlled mayhem in its visuals and sound.
The rest? I was bored shitless. Most vexing, and this includes seeing the bumbling Tom Conti as Albert Einstein and Gary Oldman as Harry S. Truman in two of their most cringe performances to date, was the unbearable reliance on appointment hearings and that security clearance interview, and the incessant cutting back and forth, an overlong spy-chasing vignette which I found mostly tiresome. We all know politicians are vile; there’s nothing especially innovative in showing us all over again.
I craved more spectacle as well as insight into how this deadly weapon was actually made, that and a longing for a Terrence Malick approach to the material. It was so talky but with no memorable dialogue, and I got a bit sick of it – I was genuinely disappointed. As for the eponymous protagonist, I simply found him boring, and every time the camera lingered perversely on his sunken cheekbones a sense of resigned ennui is how I would describe the atmosphere.
A stunning technical achievement though it all is, I didn’t find it particularly revelatory, and I won’t be watching it again.
It also didn’t help matters that I was sadly sat beside a large, rather whiffy individual who breathed like an asthmatic hippo, ate like a gannet, and decided to take his shoes and socks off. I had to endure this for almost three hours.
This has the most insane sudden shifts in style and tone. It fees like a student movie, and then you have some ludicrous sentimental schmaltz – strong Rocky (1976) pretensions – thrown in the mix. It’s certainly unpredictable and often entertaining, and the confidence of it all is twinned to an actual story with proper societal issues. Visually, it has some impressive and daring scenes, and the physical specimen that is peak Liam Neeson.
But, unfortunately, Hugh Grant turns up. I don’t know what accent he’s speaking in because I’ve never heard anyone talk like that.
I didn’t believe a minute of this movie. But I’m not bothered.
I’m more perplexed as to how and why Ennio Morricone scored this to tunes that sound like the b-side of The Untouchables (1987).
It doesn’t even matter what the subject matter is – this is ridiculous in that it’s just Clive Owen narrating a few events. It’s so magisterial in its framing, the shot syntax, the subtext of the bare-bones screenplay, that I was kind of engulfed in it all despite not actively being engaged in the story. A brooding exercise in style.
Casino (1995) is the best movie about a casino, but this casino-based film isn’t about a casino; it could be set in a Lidl.
This really was a wasted opportunity, the gift of a premise – two snipers in a dance of death amidst the backdrop of the bloodiest battle in history – compromised by a pointless romance, daft politics, dodgy accents, and a complete misunderstanding of the time and place depicted.
It would have been better to not tackle the complexity of it all and just show the antagonists facing off, with allusions to the wider ideological foes.
The first 10 mins, though. Watch those and then turn it off. Here you go:
Bit of a trivial non-story this one but what else do you expect from a rejig of a silly caper?
It starts off all kitsch and almost in awe of its prototype, but it gets much better once the police corruption is exposed; it ended up delivering more than I expected.
Christian Bale is a Very Bad Bale, just a slimy, smug yuppie, and as shameless as it gets, but he somehow imbues the scumbag with vulnerabilities; it’s just before his Full-Bateman turn before he went Full-Batman. But the big kudos go to Jeffrey Wright’s wannabe socially protean drug baron. He’s a ludicrous Tony Montana imitation. And extremely funny.
The small pleasures from these movies mostly consist of spotting the actor. We’ve got George Costanza’s boss from Seinfeld, Dan Hedaya (the bloke who is in everything), and both Kima Greggs and that annoying prat Bubbles from The Wire. And the mom from The Sixth Sense (1999).
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 