What an enjoyable movie this is, the type that offers two hours of escapist fun with no baggage or pretensions. It’s nothing special and provokes zero thoughts that one would deem as being profound, but then it’s about poker and Mel Gibson’s con man act. Nothing wrong with it at all and when it concludes you’re a wee bit sad there’s no sequel.
That’s a mission accomplished.
This is from that cringe McConaughey era when he was the next big thing, 15 years before he became a thing, before that a slew of insufferable rom-coms which appeared to be his modus vivendi.
McConaughey is the dashing Texan with easygoing charm, and despite initial misgivings on behalf of the damsel in distress, she begins to detect an inner soul behind the one-dimensional Southern gent – welcome to the McConaughey template.
And Contact (1997)?
It’s shite and I turned it off. This almost saddens me, as I have a lot of time for William Fichtner, James Woods, David Morse, Tom Skerritt. It’s a hell of a cast, unfortunately wasted in a movie that drags, is boring, and has no reason to exist.
It’s painful watching movies all day long.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 