Last year, between the two of us, we watched an average of 317 movies.
This year our goal is to top that by watching at least one a day.
And as an extra special torture, we've decided to write about all of them.

12 June 2008

Revolver, dir. Guy Ritchie (2005)

STEVE says:
Jesus Christ, I just want to punch Guy Ritchie in the face.


NIKKI says:
It just kept going. And going and going. It would not stop. And the longer it went, the more pretentious, more stupid, more stupefyingly boring it got.

I now understand why this received such a critical hammering. Style over substance is a massive understatement, and it's not even worth watching for its style because you've already seen Quentin Tarantino, Brian DePalma, and Tony Scott perfect these same stylistic moves in their films.

I don't quite know what Guy Ritchie thinks he's doing here. Is this a metaphysical look inside the mind of the gangster? A peek behind the gritty crime curtain with a New Age spin? Is it a rip-off of The Prisoner, only instead of "Number One", we've got "Mr. Good"? Who the hell knows. I just know the repetition of the super-deep quotes about ego and control was so dumb, it was embarrassing. It's as is Ritchie wanted you to guess the ending, he was pushing it so hard. And the whole thing says nothing about ego and mind-control, or the ravages of a depraved mind -- if indeed it was trying to say anything new about those things at all.

I hated everything about this movie, right down to Ray Liotta's butt (normally, of course, something I might not mind having a look at). I felt myself drowning in pretentiousness. Steve and I kept looking at the clock, just desperate for it to end.

It made no sense. It was boring. The action was lame. The only good thing about it was Andre 3000's wardrobe. Which you just know he picked himself.


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