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Do you find Channing Tatum dance-grinding appealing? There’s not much of that here. There’s just the tedious grinding of dragging out yet another sequel in the face of diminishing franchise returns.
An adventure crammed with junky slapstick and garish animation that seems to believe it is feminist, but only doubles down on Smurfily regressive notions of gender.
A portrait of grief that borrows the conventions of romantic comedies. There may not be a lot of passion here, but there is plenty of pleasant zing.
Even a movie that is supposedly “for women” is still all about men. [This post is not behind the paywall.]
A cringe-worthy jamboree of dimbulb manflesh that’s even more embarrassing than the first film. If you want a picture of the future, imagine Channing Tatum grinding his crotch in a human face, forever.
Feels like a cheap action flick and plays like an unintentional call to end drugs prohibition and the idiotic war between cartels and law enforcement.
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