
The Suicide Theory movie review: to die or not to die
Guilt, grief, and forgiveness get wrapped up in a Twilight Zone-ish shroud of fate in this downbeat trifle of a crime drama.

Guilt, grief, and forgiveness get wrapped up in a Twilight Zone-ish shroud of fate in this downbeat trifle of a crime drama.

When movies like this star the likes of Liam Neeson, they open on 3,000 screens. It’s difficult not to see racism and sexism in the disparity.

A repulsive and disgustingly manipulative roundrobin of revenge that veers from softcore porn to an emotionally ignorant parody of a family drama.

If there’s a thriller to be found in international travel regulations, this is not it. Makes a mockery of the unsung heroes it’s meant to celebrate.

Not even Catherine Deneuve can save this dramatically inert soap opera of corruption and obsession, which does not even resolve its central mystery.

With supercool 70s chic and a smart crime thriller vibe, this is a welcome throwback to action dramas of the past, before they chose spectacle over story.

Plausibility isn’t in the cards for this odious excuse for a thriller. This is all about sexy danger, for sociopathic, misogynistic values of “sexy danger.”

For almost the entire running time of this movie, we have no idea what it is about. What is it trying to say? What sort of story is it trying to tell?

Meet the crotchety, bitter old man who, back in 1983 as a crotchety, bitter younger man, refused to initiate global nuclear war. A true story!

Overly complicated yet somehow anticlimactic, and constructed more with pat Hollywood pomp rather than the authentic grit it demands.