Tag Archives: Netflix

Adolescence (2025). Derivative, boring, pointless. And massively popular.

Stephen Graham features, hence this trumpeted Netflix miniseries had to be given a whirl. 

The verdict: 

Most of the acting is cringe. The desk sergeant is one of the “goonies” from Dead Man’s Shoes (2004) and he has the thesp ability of Mickey Rourke doing an impression of Owen Wilson, but with a northern twang. This was an augury for the rest of proceedings.

The single take aims to go for a certain verisimilitude, I imagine, but it merely serves to elongate the stinky acting that could have been mollified through editing. But without the single take this would merely be another run-of-the-mill inner city crime drama. Which it is. 

So there’s no point to any of this gimmicky tripe other than it being concerned social commentary. That would be commendable, but then the psychobabble commences in episode three and there are entire scenes here lifted right out of Primal Fear (1996).

It’s total pish and I don’t get the hype. Not that I care too much to delve into the reasons for it.

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Zero Day (2025).

Bobby De Niro in his first major TV role, with Jesse Plemons, the thespian formerly known as Meth Damon. I am embarrassed to report the embarrassing antics on display in this terrible miniseries.

It’s all about De Niro being infallible and imperious as the ex-Prez, our immaculately tailored Jack Bauer protagonist for 2025, an eager biographer relaying all the noble details of his presidency to the audience within 10 minutes of screen time. It’s lazy and dull, and the straw that broke this viewer’s back was our humble former chief’s speech at the rubble of an attack; it was like Bush with the bullhorn at Ground Zero, but suffused with your overbearing De Niro moralising.

This is mainly about Bobby trying to show everyone how to be presidential. I terminated the tripe right there, never to return.

Some reviewers are kind to the show. I’m sure it’s compelling if you can tolerate the grandstanding.

Pish.

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Hitman (2007).

This is based on a lauded video game. I haven’t heard of it or played it, so I won’t bother alluding to the geneses of 2007’s Hitman. Timothy Olyphant has been around forever and he’s a fine actor but has never quite hit the A-list. I mind him first rocking up as the zany Mickey (“the freaky Tarantino film student!”) in Scream 2 (1997) and the slimy drug dealer in Go (1999). He’s had decent work ever since, though he was a monotonous ‘presence’ in Die Hard 4.0 (2007), but that’s down to having zilch to work with.

This movie kicks off with one of the most turgid credits sequences I’ve seen, with ‘Ava Maria’ joining in the snores. The lack of originality wasn’t a shock; the entire film being an imitation number wasn’t, either.

It has a bit of visual verve to it, and we have a sympathetic protagonist (Olyphant is good) with more layers than I expected for this variety of trash. The dialogue, though, is so lumpen and stilted it’s like R2-D2 beeped the words and had them translated by a writer on the expired soap opera of mank that was Brookside. “Eat your sandwich, I need to get some sleep,” orders our eponymous hitman to Olga Kurylenko. Profound words. It’s a full 90 mins of this kind of exchange.

To add to the melting pot of the derivative, Dougray Scott (“I coulda been Wolverine”) is also in it with his Received Pronunciation Scottish accent, Sean Ambrose from Mission: Impossible 2 (2000) but as an Interpol agent. The plot is confusing and confused; even the actors seem confused as to what is actually happening and why. The totality of this flick is that it’s Bourne-lite and Luc Besson-lite at the same time. 

Shite, but just shite. It has no pretensions to be anything else, so it receives a 1/5 from me.

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Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F (2024).

Hot on the heels of Top Gun: Maverick (2022), here’s another inevitable remake/reboot/belated sequel. Because these are for the most part guaranteed cash cows, you can understand the need for the movie bankers to hedge their bets and continue to pump out ‘distinguished IP’ movies or whatever they’re called – recognised characters and milieus.

Beverly Hills Cop (1984) is a wonderful motion picture of its time and still holds up – funny, thrilling, violent, smart enough, and with a protagonist who would entertain in any 90-minute premise. The sequel is a less good carbon copy but still serviceable and with the added bonus of Brigitte Nielsen yelling at folk to “eat the floor!”. Let’s not discuss the third one in the canon, as it does not exist, much akin to Rocky V (1990).

And here we arrive at Axel F (2024).

It’s not bad at all; moreover, it’s funny. The best part? It isn’t a PG-13.

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Monk.

Informing everyone that Monk is now on Netflix and it isn’t shite.

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Ripley (2024). Excellent.

The cinematic travails of Tom Ripley have given us the quite barking The American Friend (1977), The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), and the little-seen Ripley’s Game (2002) – a multifarious holy trilogy of sorts linked by the amoral antihero. I have not seen Purple Noon (1960), nor the Barry Pepper number. And what the fuck happened to that actor? He was on the cusp but now operating in the AWOL stakes.

And this TV first, it’s exceptional, a throwback continental thriller with vistas galore. Ripley epitomises the self-effacing weasel; you need to watch out for these creeps for they lurk in the shadows.

It’s a 5/5 from me and I couldn’t find a flaw in it.

And Patricia Highsmith used to smuggle snails through airport customs ….

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Fool Me Once (2024).

Watching this hugely entertaining binge-ripe trash, I was always aware of Scream‘s Randy Meeks’ assertion that “Everybody’s a suspect!”. And they are, with the red herrings and reverse cul-de-sacs. Who can you trust? No one. Who is likeable? A few, but they’re probably dirty.

Cluedo on steroids, it’s very well acted for what is essentially the TV equivalent of a sordid airport page-turner, even if it’s another gruelling example of the ‘Americanisation of conversation’. Example:

“Come on, Maya.”

“What, Eddie?”

“You’re not yourself, Maya.”

“I’m fine, Eddie.”

And Brendan Brady from Hollyoaks is in it.

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The Killer (2023).

I fell asleep.

It wasn’t memorable.

Nothing else to report.

Bye for now.

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Get Gotti (Netflix).

More valuable than most with its refreshing insight into procedural techniques, and it doesn’t delve much into the cultural appeal of Gotti at the time of his Al Capone status; why bother to dissect the masses’ tendency to elevate cunts into heroes? This creative decision was a relief (we could be here all fucking day).

I liked it mainly because the makers have clearly fashioned the music, the titles, the cinematography … the whole works on Drive (2011). That’s funny. I can picture the production team sitting down to watch the Gosling (birthing into ‘Gosling’) picture and concluding, “Our three-part series shall be Drive with a voice-over.”

Which it is.

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Beckham (Netflix).

There’s archive footage in episode 2 of this Netflix doc when post-Simeone lash-out you see hundreds of demented West Ham United fans outside the Man Utd team bus before a match going apeshit and baying for a public hanging.

You see in these moments how pathetic the masses can be.

That’s the big take from this series, which is beguilingly directed by the ‘Indian’ bloke from Short Circuit (1986).

Johnny 5 is alive.

https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2023/sep/30/netflix-i-came-to-love-david-beckham-how-an-oscar-winning-succession-star-put-goldenballs-wild-life-on-screen

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