Killer Elite (review)
grunt grunt grunt *glower* [insert mockney swearing] bash crash punch kick [insert closeup of unshaven stubble]
grunt grunt grunt *glower* [insert mockney swearing] bash crash punch kick [insert closeup of unshaven stubble]
I’m so excited cuz it’s like Taylor Lautner made a movie just for Team Jacob! Except he’s not a werewolf or anything silly or fantasy like that — he’s a real teenager with real problems. Like being the secret child of top international spies.
Remember Drive Angry? (I hope you don’t.) This is not that movie. This is Drive Calm. This is Drive Cool.
It’s entirely possible that nothing that happens after the first twenty minutes or so is taking place anywhere outside the protagonist’s head. But that’s not a really satisfying out for what is an equally intriguing and frustrating cinematic experience…
Colombiana fofana, Zoe Saldana banana. C’mon, sing it with me! C’mon! It makes more sense than the movie, and it’s more entertaining to boot.
Apollo 18 is not scary. It’s not intense. It’s not surprising. It’s supposed to be all these things and fails completely.

It’s a rare thing, but sometimes digging up the past and giving it another spin is a good thing.
Hoorah! Time to start mythologizing the reign of Saddam Hussein!
I can’t help but recall Eddie Murphy’s standup bit in which he suggested — this is decades ago now — that when a scary voice in your haunted house tells you to “Gettttt outtttt!” the best thing to do is leave…
You wanna know who the killer is? I’ll tell you who the killer is. In fact, there’s two killers: that’s the twist. Director Wes Craven and screenwriter Kevin Williamson worked in tandem here to murder the horror comedy… or at least their own franchise. Not that it wasn’t dead already.