2/10/14: The Dude Slums It

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'80s action films, 8 Million Ways to Die, Andy Garcia, Angel Moldonado, auteur theory, B-movies, bad films, bad movies, based on a book, Being There, cinema, David Lee Henry, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Hal Ashby, Harold and Maude, Jeff Bridges, Jesus Quintana, Matt Scudder, Movies, Oliver Stone, Randy Brooks, Rosanna Arquette, The Big Lebowski, To Live and Die in L.A., William Friedkin, Z-movies

Sometimes, it’s easy to figure out why a film turns out bad. It can feature a hack director (Uwe, despite your vicious left hook, I’m looking right at you), an obnoxious “star” (anything with Tom Green) or a terrible script (take your pick): it might even feature all of those, like some form of noxious cinematic goulash. Sometimes, however, it can be a little more difficult to peg why a film turns out less successfully than intended or even (worst case scenario) why said film fails completely. A film can seem to have everything going for it or, at the very least, enough to at least be an enjoyable romp, yet still wildly miss the mark and flail around like an octopus in tap-shoes. Such is the case with 8 Million Ways to Die, an empty-headed ’80s actioner starring Jeff “The Dude” Bridges and directed by Hal Asby (Harold and Maude, Shampoo, Being There). You’d think that their combined pedigrees would amount to something at least marginally entertaining: you would be quite wrong, indeed.

Plot-wise, 8 Million Ways to Die resembles quite a few other action films, both from the ’80s and beyond. Matt Scudder (Bridges) is a former alcoholic/ex-cop who gets approached by a mysterious woman (Alexandra Paul) at an AA meeting. It turns out that she’s a hooker and wants Matt’s help in leaving her pimp, Chance (Randy Brooks). Since nothing is ever as easy as it first seems, poor Matt is soon involved with a kooky drug-dealer named Angel (a very young Andy Garcia in one of his first feature films) and his “girlfriend” Sarah (Rosanna Arquette). Along the way, Matt must avenge Sunny’s death (for some reason), bring her killers to justice and woo Sarah before they’re all killed by the completely unbalanced Angel.

In many ways, 8 Million Ways to Die resembles a brain-dead re-do of William Friedkin’s far-superior To Live and Die in L.A., a film which came out a mere six months prior. The film is filled with all of the studied cool, washed-out pastels, garish neon and cheesy synths of Friedkin’s film but everything seems to fall flat in 8 Million Ways to Die. Even Bridges, always one of the most reliably interesting actors in the business, seems both bored and bemused by the chaos around him.

Bridges is reliably good, if tuned-out, but he’s completely surrounded by a crowd of actors going for broke in ways that seem to indicate there was some sort of over-acting competition going on behind-the-scenes. Obvious winner? Andy Garcia as the absolutely ludicrous Angel Moldonado. He chews up so much scenery that I’m surprised he didn’t gain 100 pounds on-set. With his ridiculously tiny, greasy ponytail, childishly foul mouth and blinding white suits, Angel seems to be the spiritual forefather for John Turturro’s Jesus Quintana in The Big Lebowski. Imagine “the Jesus” as a James Bond villain and you have some idea of the sheer stupidity on display here. Toss in a performance by Arquette that could best be described as “probably high” and a jaw-clenching shoutathon from Randy Brooks as Chance, the nicest pimp on the silver screen and the whole things seems like a particularly bad dinner-theater production that Bridges somehow stumbled into.

Thus far, we have a few potentially toxic ingredients in this little stew: over-the-top, unlikable acting; a stereotypically cheesy score; absolutely dated mise en scene; a Scooby Doo level of mystery-solving that involves finding the cat ring that matches a pair of cat earrings. Where the film really begins to distinguish itself, however, is with its abysmally terrible script. Not only is the film needlessly confusing (I found myself needing to draw a chart of the various characters’ relationships until I realized that this was more work than the filmmakers point into their project and I tore it up in disgust) but the sense of cause-and-effect is broken, to say the least. Characters act in whatever manner seems handy to the story, at the moment, with no regards to how anything actually fits together. There was so much random activity going on that it seemed both silly and insulting to even attempt to tie it into a traditional “private eye” framework: with a story this nonsensical, what’s there to investigate and solve?

With a bad script, of course, comes some bad dialogue and 8 Million Ways to Die gives us some real howlers. Bridges explains the film’s title and needlessly ties the movie into The Naked City when he states that, “In this city, there are eight million ways to die.” Awesome. Sunny hits on Matt by telling him that “The street light makes my pussy hair glow in the dark,” a line which she delivers in precisely the same manner as one might give directions to a stranger on the street. The big “climax” of the film involves a stand-off between Angel and his gang, Matt and Chance and predominantly involves the cast yelling, “Fuck you!” “No, fuck you!” for the better part of 10 minutes. Ironically, this actually counts as some of the best, canniest writing in the entire film. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Jeff Bridges and Andy Garcia yell “Fuck you” at each other like they were cycling through emotions in an actors’ workshop. Now show me confusion…good! Show me boredom…excellent! Now pretend that you’re hungry…fantastic!

As I mentioned earlier, 8 Million Ways to Die seems to be a pretty curious failure. There’s a great director (Ashby’s Being There and Harold and Maude are cinematic staples) and a good cast: what went wrong? In this case, if I may pop on my deerstalker and play detective, I thing I might know where to lay at least a little of the blame. When one examines the credits, one notices that 8 Million Ways to Die is adapted from the book of the same name by a couple of screenwriters: Oliver Stone and David Lee Henry. Stone should be familiar to just about anyone but David Lee Henry is actually the more illuminating of the two: Henry, you see, is also the genius scribe behind Charles Bronson’s The Evil That Men Do (easily one of Chuck’s worst, meanest films), Patrick Swayze’s Road House and Steven Seagal’s Out For Justice.

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen: the auteur behind Harold and Maude and Being There, two of the wittiest, liveliest comedies ever made, once directed a dumb ’80s action film starring Jeff Bridges and written by the lunkhead who brought us Out For Justice. Was there ever any way this thing could have been a contender?

1/20/14: Farewell to Your Future Self

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12 Monkeys, action films, Blade Runner, Boreno, Brick, Bruce Willis, chase films, cinema, closing the loop, Conan the Barbarian, drama, dystopian future, Farewell to the King, Film auteurs, films, grim future, headhunter tribes, historical dramas, hitmen, island paradises, Japanese fleet in the Pacific, John Milius, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, jungle combat, kings, Looper, Movies, Nick Nolte, Rian Johnson, romance, sci-fi, telekinesis, Terry Gilliam, The Big Lebowski, The Brothers Bloom, The Rainmaker, time travel, war films, World War II

After beginning the day with a couple of Oscar-nominated documentaries, I figured that I’d end it with a film where Nick Nolte becomes king of Borneo and Bruce Willis and Joseph Gordon-Levitt share the same face. Welcome to the world I live in, ladies and gentlemen: it’s a strange one.

First of all, take a moment (or two) to marvel at the glory that is the above poster for Farewell the King. Nolte giving his best Blue Steel…burning huts…lots of buff dudes with machine guns…that, my friends, is what we commonly call one kickass film poster. Doesn’t matter what the film is about: a peep at that one-sheet and I’d hightail it to the theater post-haste!

Now that your eyes have been bathed in badassery, let’s take a look at the fella that wrote and directed Farewell to the King: John Milius. You might know him as the guy that wrote and directed Conan the Barbarian (ie: the awesome one) and the original Red Dawn. You might also know him as the guy who wrote the screenplays for Dirty Harry, Magnum Force, Apocalypse Now, Jeremiah Johnson and A Clear and Present Danger. Or perhaps you know him as the creator of the cable show Rome. Barring that, you may know him (peripherally) as the inspiration for John Goodman’s Walter in The Big Lebowski. Now…taking a look at all of these disparate pieces that make up John Milius, can you take a wild guess at what awaits within Farewell to the King? Yes, friends and neighbors: we’re about to enter the mystical kingdom of Testosteronia.

Due to my father, I was a huge fan of Milius before I ever knew it. Growing up, the Dirty Harry series was just about the closest thing we got to the gospels: I’d already seen the entire series by the time I was a pre-teen and I pretty much had the first two, Dirty Harry and Magnum Force, memorized. I was also completely obsessed with sword-and-sorcery stuff by that point, so Excalibur and Conan the Barbarian got watched at least once a day. Add to that my equally hardcore interest in Apocalypse Now and I was, essentially, an intense Milius fan that had absolutely no idea who the dude was. Classic me, as it were.

As far as plot goes, Farewell to the King is equally as gonzo as anything in Milius’ back-catalog. A British officer and his radio operator land in Borneo, during World War II, in order to whip up local support against Japanese forces in the area. They find a friendly response from a local tribe only to wake up the next morning as captives: it seems that these natives might be the kind normally found in old jungle epics. The difference, however, is that those other tribes didn’t have Nick Nolte as their king.

You see, Nolte was an American soldier during the war, taken prisoner by the Japanese but escaped to the jungles of Borneo. Once there, he was taken captive by the local tribe of headhunters, saved from being turned over to the Japanese due to his dreamy blue eyes (no joke: the women of the village stage a revolt because they can “see the ocean” in his peepers…what a dreamboat!), became leader of the tribe after beating their chief at deadly hand-to-hand combat, fell in love and married one of the locals and managed to unite all of the smaller tribes in the area into one mega-tribe (of which he’s chief, natch). Whew! That is one busy Mystical White Man there, isn’t it!

Learoyd (Nolte) is pretty sure that he can just ignore the rest of World War II: after all, he has a pretty wife, several children, a really cool tropical paradise and the complete adoration of his people…why does he wanna stomp around the jungle and shoot Japanese soldiers? As the British officer gently explains, however, just because you choose to ignore the war doesn’t mean the war chooses to ignore you. Before long, Learoyd is thrown headfirst into the conflict, proceeding full throttle down a path that will lead to glorious victory, staggering defeat, mysterious cannibalistic Japanese ghost regiments, betrayal, mean Australians, Gen. MacArthur and, ultimately, sovereignty.

If it couldn’t be handily discerned from the above plot description, Farewell to the King is a deeply silly, if wildly entertaining, film. It operates along the same sort of wish-fulfillment scenario as Costner’s Dances with Wolves (white guy shows up and teaches the natives to be the best natives they can possibly be). It would be a much more offensive scenario if Milius’ film wasn’t so amiable and good-natured. It’s quite obvious that the natives stand head-and-shoulders above everything else (especially the Australians, who come across so loutishly as to make one wonder if this wasn’t some particular bias of Milius’). For one thing, they’re pretty much the only group that never betrays Learoyd (which can’t be said for the British). For the other, the village scenes are shot with such a sense of sun-dappled wonder that, especially as compared to the dreary jungle combat scenes, it pretty clear where the film would rather be spending its summer vacation.

Ultimately, there’s really one main reason to hunt this flick down (unless you happen to be a Milius’ completest or tropical island enthusiast): the marvelous Nick Nolte. It’s quite wonderful to witness Nolte in all of his buffed-out, leonine glory, especially when he manages to take the character to levels normally reserved for the Nic known as Cage. He strikes a terrific balance of level-headed, village elder and wild-eyed Bornean Rambo and it really works. Less successful, possibly by contrast, is the British officer, played by Nigel Havers. Havers spends most of the film looking sheepish, as if he’s constantly preparing to apologize for something. There are times when the approach works for the character but it usually has the effect of making his Capt. Fairbourne somewhat of a non-entity.

So what do you get with Farewell to the King? Well, you get some pumped-up, patriotic, Green Berets-style jungle fighting. You get Nick Nolte as the leader of a nation of headhunters in Borneo. You get some nice drama, a little character development (but not too much, mind you), plenty of action sequences and a simply gorgeous location. You get a loopy performance from John Bennett Perry (aka Matthew Perry’s dad) as Gen. MacArthur. You even get an evil, cannibalistic Japanese military unit, for good measure. In short, you get the full Milius treatment.

While it’s not my favorite genre, I’m definitely someone who enjoys a good sci-fi flick. In particular, I find myself really enjoying smaller, quirkier, more indie science fiction fare such as Primer, Timecrimes, Moon, Europa Report and Cube. I’ve got nothing, really, against the big tent-pole versions: I grew up on Star Wars and enjoyed The Matrix and Inception. There’s just something about a quieter, weirder sci-fi experience that really appeals to me. When I heard that Rian Johnson was going to be trying his hand at a sci-fi film, I knew this would be a must-see.

I’ve been a huge fan of Rian ever since Brick, a brilliant high school noir that also starred Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He followed that up with The Brothers Bloom, a film so magical and wonderful that I had to keep checking and make sure that Terry Gilliam didn’t create it under a pseudonym. With those two films, I knew that I’d be paying a visit to whatever particular world Rian decided to create next. While sci-fi seemed a little left-field, especially after the magical realism of Brothers Bloom, I had faith, faith which was handily rewarded.

Looper posits a slightly dystopian future, a sort of Blade Runner-lite with hover bikes, drone irrigation systems, telekinesis and time travel. It’s not quite the brave new world we might’ve once imagined, however: telekinesis is pretty much handily written off as “a bunch of assholes floating quarters” and time travel is outlawed, used only by criminal organizations as a way of dumping unwanted corpses in the past. We’ve come so far, you see, but stayed so very close to home.

We meet Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), one of the hitmen known as Loopers, who are responsible for carrying out these contracts. Loopers have it pretty good, all things considered, right up until the time they outlive their welcome. Once this happens, their bosses send the Looper’s future self through the time machine, where the past Looper will, essentially, kill himself, “closing the loop.” At first glance, the mechanics of this seem rather unwieldy, leading one to wonder whether this will be a film akin to Primer (a brilliant film, mind you, but kind of like sitting through a graduate-level physics seminar while still in middle school biology). But fear not, as Joe will later say to himself: “I don’t wanna talk about time travel stuff cuz if we do, we’ll be here all day.” Johnson gives us just enough science to hang our hats on but not enough to hang us, preferring the let the central conflict do the heavy lifting.

And what a conflict. You see, one day, Joe’s future self comes through the portal. Loopers are trained to expect that day and not hesitate: it’s their version of retirement, essentially. Not killing your future self is generally frowned on, as that results in two of you running amok in the same time period. Joe, of course, hesitates just long enough on that fateful day to allow his future self (Bruce Willis) to kick the crap out of him and head for the hills. Present Joe must now track down Future Joe in order to close his own loop, all the while avoiding the shady underworld characters that employ him. Future Joe, for his part, has a mission: he needs to find and kill the mysterious crime boss, known only as The Rainmaker, who ordered his termination, an act which resulted in the death of Future Joe’s beloved wife. If he can do this, Future Joe believes, in can change the course of time and alter the outcome. Present Joe can’t let that happen, leading to a Joe vs Joe fighting extravaganza.

There’s quite a bit more to Looper than what the above indicates but uncovering the film’s many twists and turns is part of its charm. This is a film that manages to not only marry the past parts of Johnson’s short career (the noir-isms of Brick and the magical realism of Brothers Bloom) into a thoroughly cohesive whole but to include wholly new elements to the mix. Tonally, the film really reminded me of Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys, especially once it began to delve into the truth behind The Rainmaker. This is certainly not an influence I could have seen in his earlier films but the parallelism(especially once we factor Willis into the mix) really works and makes me genuinely excited to see what other new tricks are up his sleeve.

As could be expected, JGL and Willis are outstanding. JGL, in particular, deserves special praise for his portrayal of young Joe. There is, obviously, some makeup used to enhance the physical resemblance between the two actors but that in no way should take focus from JGL’s performance. He becomes Willis in such a perfect way, from the way he walks to the way he holds his head and the subtle inflections in his voice, that it’s one of the most dizzying bits of screen fakery I’ve seen in ages. His first appearance took my breath away and it’s impossible for me to think that the same amount of praise and admiration currently bestowed upon Joaquin Phoenix won’t be granted twenty-fold to Gordon-Levitt. It really is an amazing performance, so full of pathos and emotion, yet so subtle, that it reminded me of something I’d kind of taken for granted: Joseph Gordon-Levitt is one hell of an actor.

As is Willis, of course, channeling the same kind of wounded intensity that made his performance in the aforementioned 12 Monkeys so riveting. Cocky, self-assured Bruce Willis is a mighty kickass dude. Quiet, brooding Bruce Willis, however, often makes for a better film. His interplay with JGL is great, especially in a diner sit-down that seems to parody the inevitable “meeting of the twins” scene in like-minded films. I still buy Willis as an action hero, to a point, and Looper makes sure not to cross that point in any manner as egregious as the Expendables films. For his part, JGL convincingly pulls off the action-oriented material, leaving one to hope for more roles like this in his future.

As a whole, the film works exceptionally well. The special effects scenes, especially one involving a bonkers version of one of those “assholes floating quarters” doing a whole lot more than that, are excellent and many of the kinetic fight sequences reminded me of the fights in The Matrix, although much less flashy. There are some really deep issues explored here, issues that help make the powerful ending particularly resonant. Rather than being brazenly manipulative, the ending comes organically from the journey that Present Joe has been on, allowing it to seem more natural than mechanical.

At the end of the day, I found myself liking Looper quite a bit, maybe even more than Inception, despite the more ambitious scope of Nolan’s film. Like Brick, Looper is a tightly-plotted examination of loss, responsibility and moral obligation, a film that is not afraid to ask (or answer) some pretty big questions. It also manages to wrap science fiction into a noir cloak in a way not seen since those fabled attack ships were on fire, somewhere over by Orion.

1/4/14: Saturday Night’s Alright (for Movie Watching)

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'80s slasher films, action films, April Fool's Day, documentaries, documentary, dramedy, Dziga Vertov, Exiled, experimental film, fan conventions, films, Friends with Kids, gangster films, Hong Kong films, horror films, Jason Statham, Johnnie To, Lebowski Fest, Man with a Movie Camera, Redemption, rom-rom, Russian film, slasher films, Takeshi Kitano, The Achievers, The Big Lebowski

Welcome to our first Saturday edition of The VHS Graveyard. As a movie fanatic, weekends are my go-to days for mass viewings. I usually like to wake up early, get a few foreign or silent films in to kick-start everything and then proceed to plow my way through my “must-see” list for the day. This Saturday, I was able to take in six films: not quite my best tally but not too shabby. This, then, is how the day progressed:

Johnnie To is often described by waggish critics as being the “Hong Kong Jerry Bruckheimer.” This, to be fair, isn’t completely shy of the truth but is unnecessarily reductive. In all honesty, Bruckheimer wishes that he had the wide-ranging scope of To’s films – action, gangster, drama, comedy…he’ll take on pretty much any genre and give it his customary sheen.

When To’s gangster films are good, they’re very good, reminding me of flashier versions of Takeshi Kitano’s iconic ’90s-era gangster films like Sonatine and Boiling Point. Exiled ends up being quite good, although it’s also a rather strange duck. Posited as an intermingling of the gangster and spaghetti Western genres, Exiled is high on style but rather light on substance. We follow a close-knit group of hitmen as they move from job to job, ending with a double-cross that sees them on the run from an angry mob boss.

While the storyline itself can be unnecessarily cluttered (there were a few times when I lost track of the cross/double-crossing and was utterly in the dark), there is no denying the power of the action and imagery. To manages to replicate the essential feel of a spaghetti western without simply cramming in the various pieces of a gangster film. The result is a hybrid that manages to take the best aspects of both (the elegiac pace and dry-as-dust soundtrack of the western, the kinetic Technicolor atmosphere and frenzied pace of the Hong Kong bullet ballet) and make something wholly interesting. The film isn’t perfect but, when it works (an amazingly framed shoot-out in a scuzzy doctor’s apartment would be the highlight in any of a hundred other films), it’s pretty unforgettable.   Throw in some very nicely handled thoughts on friendship and we’ve got something well worth seeing.

As a former film student, I’ve always had a soft spot for Russian pioneer Dziga Vertov. One of the true forefathers of cinema, Vertov was constantly experimenting with the very fabric of cinema even in its earliest days. I’d managed to miss seeing Man with a Movie Camera up until now but I’m glad to have finally rectified that situation.

Ostensibly, Man with a Movie Camera is just what the title says: a man (with a movie camera) rushes around 1920s-era Russia and captures every aspect of society. Literally. The camera catches life and death (a birth and a funeral); love and sorrow (a wedding and folks signing divorce papers at a court-house); rich and poor (the well-to-do in elegant finery and filthy hobos in the street). There is no dialogue and no intertitles, even though the film is, technically, a silent film. Here, Vertov was interested in challenging the very idea of narrative filmmaking, birthing a form of documentary realism that is still very evident today.

There’s a playful sense of surrealism to much of the film, particularly in scenes where the cameraman looms Godzilla-sized over the city or films from inside a full glass of beer. Stop-motion (a self-moving camera and animate plate of crawfish are particular highlights) helps to heighten this sense of “realistic unreality.” More than anything, however, possibly due to the documentary film-style and lack of intertitles, Man with a Movie Camera feels very current and nothing like what we might presume a silent film from 1929 to feel like. The ending even features the cameraman racing around the streets and is filmed like an action sequence, complete with pulse-pounding score.

Ah, ’80s slasher films…so much variety, so many clones. April Fool’s Day has the virtue of being one of the more notorious ’80s slashers for one very important reason, a reason that I won’t spoil for you. Suffice to say, however, that you will feel cheated by this film’s ending.

A group of obnoxious, stuck-up college kids (plus the obligatory nice hick and square British woman) head to a strange friend’s secluded mansion for some good ol’ fashioned fun. The friend is named Muffy and she may or may not be crazy: she also may or may not be trying to kill everyone one by one.

The “twist” is genuinely awful, although it does automatically remind one of the twist in House of the Long Shadows. That may have not been a great film, either, but it had the benefit of featuring Vincent Price, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. All that April Fool’s Day has going for it is some okay gore, cheesy acting and that forehead-smacking ending.

Hardcore fans of anything are, by definition, kind of nuts. Fan, after all, is a shortened form of fanatic. Hardcore fans of particular films or franchises, however, can give a whole new meaning to the term. Try and have a conversation about anything Star Wars or Star Trek-related with a hardcore fan of either and see how fun that is.

Since fans are kind of kooky, a documentary about hardcore fans of the Coen Brothers’ “The Big Lebowski” and the Lebowski Fest that they attend yearly must be equally kooky, right? Oh boy, yes.

For the most part, The Achievers is an entertaining but slight (very, very slight) examination of Lebowski Fest. For the most part, you get the exact same level of fandom/insight from most of these folks that you would from any other group at Comic-con, swapping the term “Jedi” for the term “Dude.” There’s one really nice quote from one attendee where he states that, “It would be cool if having just thing in common was enough.” Wouldn’t this be nice, indeed? Unfortunately, save for the parts where we’re introduced to the actual people who inspired the characters in The Big Lebowski (the actual Dude is nothing like I expected…Walter is EXACTLY what I expected), there’s not much of use here. As my long-suffering wife perfectly put it: “Can’t anybody just like something?”

Promoted as an ensemble comedy but really more of a traditional two-character-driven rom-dramedy, Friends with Kids is a decidedly middle-of-the-road experience. For the most part, the performances were quite good, with Jon Hamm and Maya Rudolph being personal favorites. In the end, however, there’s something rather disingenuous about the whole thing.

Adam Scott and Jennifer Westfeldt play best friends who are part of a close-knit group with two other couples (Maya Rudolph and Chris O’Dowd, Jon Hamm and Kristen Wiig). When the other couples begin to have kids, the platonic friends feel left out and devise a plan to have a baby of their own: they’ll raise it together, allowing each other to invest maximum time in finding a significant other who will be happy to raise the child as their own. Get it? Yeah, it’s a bit harebrained, to say the least, but makes a bit more sense in practice than on paper. Naturally, complications ensue, the two friends fall for each other and raising a baby is hard work, ya know?

As I stated earlier, this is a perfectly pleasant, enjoyable film with (at least for me) one glaring exception: Jennifer Westfeldt. Nothing against her personally, but her character came across as a complete tonal mess. I would have given anything to have either Rudolph or Wiig take that role but Westfeldt managed to play her character with such complete blankness that I never felt for her. It was like watching a Shakespearian actor attempting to converse with a Juggalo – lots of words coming out but no connection being made.

I went in to this with no small measure of enthusiasm. I like Jason Statham just fine but critics everywhere (including Badass Digest, one of my go-to blogs) had been trumpeting this as something special: not just another Statham action film but an honest-to-god movie! How could I not be eager?

In reality? This is just another Jason Statham action film. There are some attempts at a broader significance (he was in the Iraq War and did terrible things…because it was a terrible place…and now he’ll never forget…or forgive…himself) and the action sequences were actually framed in the real world, versus something like Crank. Unfortunately, however, there just wasn’t much of interest going on around it.

The basic plot is this: Statham’s girlfriend is killed and he goes on a long, convoluted quest for revenge. In between, he beats some people up, kills a few others and romances a nun. The film has a look that recalls Only God Forgives in certain ways (check out the neon-color scheme for the above poster and tell me that doesn’t look familiar) and the vibe is decidedly downcast. In the end, however, this really is just another Statham flick: no better or worse, despite what some critics seemed to think.