Incoherent action sequences and strained sci-fi woo-woo can’t save a clueless mashup of Robocop, The Matrix, and Captain America that makes a mockery of its protagonist. Deeply terrible.
Devoid of personality and soul, this hellish Frankenstein monster of processed entertainment product wallows in a stew of borrowed ideas and imagery and does absolutely nothing fresh with them.
The Auto-Tuned boy-band version of the apocalypse. You will forgive that every plot point that isn’t a cliché is in fact a plot hole because the hero is so dreamy and impossibly perfect, right?
Takes women’s hostility out of the realm of the passive-aggressive and gives it free comedic rein physically in a way that is hilarious, disturbing, and pointed.
Hangover lite, with even more tepid notions of what constitutes debauchery, plus a true dedication to strained contrivance.
Callous, crass, unpleasantly smug. Supposes it’s being edgy because its protagonist swears a lot, but it’s like a child saying bad words just to be naughty.
A morally muddled mess that is convoluted in plot and appallingly simplistic in its themes. I am a sad geek today.
This absurd and pointlessly convoluted remake of a decade-old French action flick feels dated and out of step in more ways than one.
Easy Money is a smart, affecting, slow burn of a movie, a spectacular example of Nordic noir. The sequel suffers by comparison, though.
“You crossed my line of death!”