Nicolas Cage's major is like the one of that classmate who got As at school and looked like a nuclear physicist but who you find years later pushing a cart and begging hand-out at the Caprabo's way out. Nobody knows very well how it happened; maybe he turns up picking up an Oscar (Leaving Las Vegas), looking as if he were being done a colonoscopy for two hours (Face/Off), duplicated in a script of the great Kaufman (Adaptation), participating in demoniacal turds (Ghost Rider), or activating his bad-ass chip in autopilot for the redneck resemblance present amusement.
The director Patrick Lussier makes clear from the first scene that his way of taking advantage of 3D consists in throwing all the furnishings to a spectator's face. The story of a man coming out of hell to save a baby from a diabolical sect counts on companion hot girl (Amber Heard) among its cast, enemy died down (Billy Burke), hitman from Hades on a trip to catch the protagonist (William Fichtner) and the hero's little buddy in the shape of actor with tables who just has to look as if he were resolving a mental sudoku to comply (David Morse). What joins them together is three pages of script soaked in hectoliters of gasoline covered in dandruff, gunshots, cruel evildoers, cars, punches and embarrassing dialogs recited while looking as if they were thinking strongly in front of a burning drum. But the movie is totally sincere to its own moronic nature; here the hero just wants a skull to help himself to a big drink in it, not to recite Shakespeare. This chicken color Nicolas Cage that doesn't even take off his clothes or his sunglasses to get laid is so motherfucker. There you go.
Blind Fury is a derivative that could join that wave of B-movie modern revival together with things such as Machete, Planet Terror or Hobo with a Shotgun. It would also be easy to label inside of the most recent mindless action movies Crank, Wanted or Shoot 'Em Up style (which he shamelessly steals the scene of banging and shooting at the same time) but it doesn't turn out as referential as the first group's, or as unhinged as the second one's. It reminds, just in case slightly, of the blockbusters' 90's action with sweated muscle, but lacking the brilliant packaging as in an overproduction, like Con Air.
It won't go down in history, but thankfully it doesn't even mean to. Assimilated with certain sense of humor, Lussier's shovelful turns out moderately funny. It's a monumental "You knew what you came here for" and it has no aspiration at all: a filthy script, cool guys that don't look at blasts and opportunistic 3D.
The director Patrick Lussier makes clear from the first scene that his way of taking advantage of 3D consists in throwing all the furnishings to a spectator's face. The story of a man coming out of hell to save a baby from a diabolical sect counts on companion hot girl (Amber Heard) among its cast, enemy died down (Billy Burke), hitman from Hades on a trip to catch the protagonist (William Fichtner) and the hero's little buddy in the shape of actor with tables who just has to look as if he were resolving a mental sudoku to comply (David Morse). What joins them together is three pages of script soaked in hectoliters of gasoline covered in dandruff, gunshots, cruel evildoers, cars, punches and embarrassing dialogs recited while looking as if they were thinking strongly in front of a burning drum. But the movie is totally sincere to its own moronic nature; here the hero just wants a skull to help himself to a big drink in it, not to recite Shakespeare. This chicken color Nicolas Cage that doesn't even take off his clothes or his sunglasses to get laid is so motherfucker. There you go.
Blind Fury is a derivative that could join that wave of B-movie modern revival together with things such as Machete, Planet Terror or Hobo with a Shotgun. It would also be easy to label inside of the most recent mindless action movies Crank, Wanted or Shoot 'Em Up style (which he shamelessly steals the scene of banging and shooting at the same time) but it doesn't turn out as referential as the first group's, or as unhinged as the second one's. It reminds, just in case slightly, of the blockbusters' 90's action with sweated muscle, but lacking the brilliant packaging as in an overproduction, like Con Air.
It won't go down in history, but thankfully it doesn't even mean to. Assimilated with certain sense of humor, Lussier's shovelful turns out moderately funny. It's a monumental "You knew what you came here for" and it has no aspiration at all: a filthy script, cool guys that don't look at blasts and opportunistic 3D.
The next day your brain —which is wise— will have forgotten it, but that is preferable to it keeping hurting you. I remit to Ghost Rider.
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