Remake of the Sam Peckinpah half-decent flick from 1972, more famous for its tales-from-the-set production of booze chucked between production staff and off-screen hanky-panky than the actual thrills. It’s a decent movie, but I wouldn’t recommend it to a human being with a brain.
This was almost unwatchable.
The protagonist shows his own bank-robbing wife a gun as if she had never seen one before. Michael Madsen once again displays his supreme competence by necking a bottle of beer for no reason, slurring his words (for no reason) like Orson Welles in a Paul Masson wine advertisement.
This movie was completely without wit; the dialogue was unbearable. I watched it for James Woods. I turned this off as soon as his VIP cameo ceased.
Fucking awful.
Next.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 