My attention was drawn to this as my ears were piqued, tickled even, by Tom Hardy’s bonkers accent in the trailer – whatever accent it’s meant to be, I was intrigued. That or the feeling it was picking up the aesthetic mantel of The Wild One (1953), that seminal exploitation movie that barely merits a second viewing because it’s shite. But it does have Brando being a committed Brando.
Sadly, and this is where my faith in peculiar accents was misplaced, I was annoyed beyond composure with the lead lassie in this and her grating, stomach-churning voice, Marge Simpson scraped down a blackboard with a bit of Karen Hill from Goodfellas (1990) chucked in the vernacular mix. The entire 30 minutes I could manage this film I was telling myself, “This is so bad. My ears are in pain. I hate folk on motorcycles.”
Nice bit of scenery in the picture, open landscapes and all that; it would have been better if you just jettisoned the shitty accents, all the motorcycles, and the story, which I gave up on.
This will be the only movie starring both Tom Hardy and Michael Shannon that I’ll turn off. Sorry, lads.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 