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What the hell? When did vigilantism come back into style, become something all the cool kids were into? I mean, sheesh: You invade one measly little Middle Eastern country on trumped up evidence and out of misguided vengeance and all of a sudden America is the land of Shoot First At Whomever Pisses You Off And Don’t Even Bother To Ask Any Questions Later? Brother.
Ten soldiers who survived near-fatal injuries in Iraq sit in front of a camera and tell the stories…
A bitterly funny pill of a flick…
Beautiful-looking but torturously dull…
Movies about gangsters: You expect a lot of noise. Shouting and screaming. Barrages of gunfire. Not here. Here we have somber reflection, the lurking gray peril of an urban underbelly, shifting shifty glances and unspoken threats. ‘Eastern Promises’ is almost silent — even its title sounds like a shush.
Saget apologizes to the audience at the get-go for his nonstop vulgarity, but that won’t stop him from beating to death his one joke: that, apparently, he only recently discovered the word ‘fuck’…
This is inventive and exciting, a grip-the-armrests, hold-your-breath reinvigorating of the Western movie…
A gloriously deranged orgy of Bugs Bunny-style action and nonstop gunplay.
Kevin Bacon’s got one of each — scythe and machete — in his garage in *Death Sentence.* He’s a white-shirt-wearing, window-office-occupying corporate cog at an insurance company. Surely the biggest danger he is in would be from, you know, paper cuts on the risk-analysis reports he handles on a daily basis. Right? How did he know to have such deadly tools at the ready?
Funnily enough, though — and it’s the only thing funny about this dreadful excuse for a comedy — the movie itself has tiny balls. It’s got no nerve, no guts, no daring… no balls.
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