A Prophet (Un prophète) (review)
How a does a timid boy become a violent gangster? Like this.
How a does a timid boy become a violent gangster? Like this.
A tediously familiar collection of pointlessly crude moments drunk on their own cruelty and call it a movie. They should have titled it *Tucker Max to the Future* if they wanted folks to have an accurate idea of what they were in for…
It’s been a long time since I had to stifle the urge to shout, “No no NO!” at a movie screen in order to ensure that everything turned out okay in the end.
Perhaps Tennant ramped up the maliciousness as a distraction from the fact that his stars were evincing zero chemistry…
“Christ, have you seen what these assholes are doing with the idea I so generously bestowed upon them?” She didn’t quite throw *Repo Men* at me — for which I was grateful, because an enraged muse can hurl something as physically nebulous but as psychically powerful as a story with the force of a tornado — but she was about to if I didn’t calm her down.
Like a rejected pilot for a Nickelodeon sitcom…
I must say that it’s awfully generous of Hollywood, after engaging in a decades-long campaign to winnow down the image of what it’s acceptable for a woman to look like if she expects to be received in polite company — or any kind of company at all, in fact — to finally acknowledge the impact this has had on real people.
Spoiler alert! Jason Bourne does not find the WMDs in Iraq. Sorry to ruin *Green Zone* for you, but surely reality already did that years ago.
Finally! A movie than combines all the gender bashing of terrible TV commercials and awful sitcoms — in which manipulative women must crack the whip on their manchild husbands — with the repulsive wedding porn of every other romantic comedy of recent years.
Quietly charming and coarsely handsome, a sensitively observed story about young people in love seen through a keen eye for the unglamorous side of New York City that we don’t often see on film these days…