Tag Archives: Clive Owen

Gemini Man

This is what we call a “Sean movie” at our house – motorcycles, explosions, heck – Will Smith. It is not a Jay movie but I go along because 1) I believe there are gems in every genre and 2) it’s okay to occasionally do things for your loved one instead of yourself. But now matter how “compromising” and “open-minded” my mood, this should by all rights be a Sean review. But here’s a dirty little secret, and let’s just keep this between you and me: remember the Toronto International Film Festival that ended 5 weeks ago? Well, I’ve written all 43 of my reviews, was finished a couple of weeks ago actually, and Sean’s still working on 2 out of 4 of his. That’s right. That’s the imbalance around here, and I’m calling you out, Sean. Get it together!

Anyway, Gemini Man. Will Smith is Henry Bogan, a top-secret super-sniper with more than 70 impressive kills, helping his government to rid the world of bad guys. But those kills are catching up with him and he’s feeling mentally ready to retire. The official IMDB description calls him an “over the hill hitman” but both Smith and his character are a mere 51 years of age, and far fitter than I am though I am two decades sprier. He’s not so much past his prime as simply too mature and experienced to take this shit lightly anymore. Anyway, no matter what he’s decided, the government isn’t about to just cut him loose. He knows too much, so to them, retirement = death. The only problem is: who on earth is fit to kill the world’s best killer?

It turns out they’ll have to use the product of a highly classified lab run by Clay Verris (Clive Owen). Verris is Henry Bogan’s former Navy Seals commander, and apparently quite an admirer. He’s been using Bogan’s DNA to make a more perfect clone, and now there’s a 23 year old version of Will Smith walking around and he’s not half as tired or dispirited as his original. He’s totally going to murder Henry Bogan right in the face.

Several times during this movie I looked over at Sean with my eyebrow cocked wildly. Sean knows this look and he knows what it means. He knows I’m holding him responsible for every single weird thing this movie does. It’s his fault. He knows and I know it and it’s gonna be a very blame-y car ride home. But to my dismay, before I could even take that first big lungful of air to start in on my diatribe, Sean spikes it with “Well that was bad.”

How dare you, sir! That movie gave you everything you could want in an explosions, motorcycle, and Will Smith movie: explosions, motorcycles, and multiple Will Smiths! Is there no appeasing this man? And if he didn’t like it, who the heck did? Not the critics, that’s for sure: it’s got a measly 26% on rotten tomatoes (just for comparison, Wild Wild West has 17%).

It seems that director Ang Lee is more concerned with making high-tech movies as complicatedly as possible and isn’t so concerned with making interesting or watchable ones. Will Smith is fine, though I’m not really convinced by the de-aging software, especially since we’re pinning him to age 23, which is when he’s at the height of his Fresh Prince fame. He wasn’t just a younger version of his currently buff self. He was skinny and gawky and hadn’t quite come into his own. Will Smith at 51 is much better looking; the gray at his temples suits him, as does bigger suit size. But no matter how fresh he is, he can’t make a convoluted script work, and I had trouble remembering I wasn’t watching Mission Impossible II – not a great sign for a movie as technologically advanced as Gemini Man to be mistaken for a movie nearly 20 years its senior. There were good parts too – the catacombs looked especially cool, and Lee’s got some interesting angles in his pocket. But mostly it just felt a bit derivative and kind of a bore, even if it is 2 Will Smiths for the price of 1.

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Greenfingers

Colin Briggs catches a rare break in prison: he gets transfered to one of those mythical low-security, cushy prisons where there are no bars and the food is edible. Colin (Clive Owen) is too cool for it though. He refuses to bond with his elderly roommate Fergus, or to request interesting work. He pulls toilet duty of course, but it’s not long before the warden saves him from himself and assigns him to gardening.

Colin doesn’t know manure from jackshit about gardening, but it’s better than toilets, so he takes lots of books out of the library and eventually works himself up into quite a passionate froth about flowers. The warden is so impressed by the gardening crew’s efforts and so is Georgina Woodhouse (Helen Mirren), who just happens to be the author of several of those books about gardening. Between them, they arrange for some work release – for the prisoners to leave the grounds and work on a9u47-ab73tb7ktr3-full-image_gallerybackground-en-us-1535774499460._ri_sx940_designing and planting gardens for wealthy clients. Their work is so renowned that they’re invited to participate in the Great British Gardening Show, which is not at all what it’s really called, but I forget the name and don’t care to look it up. Of course, they’re prisoners, and not everyone is open-minded about that.

It’s sort of nice to see a prison warden who believes in rehabilitation, and who treats his prisoners like human beings. This movie is apparently based on a true story; the inmates of Her Majesty’s Prison Leyhill actually did excel at gardening. And finding something that they’re good at, that they can be recognized and praised for, is clearly strengthening and healing for men who have otherwise such bleak futures. It wouldn’t have to be gardening of course, but it’s nice that it is because of course the contrast between delicate flowers and big burly murderers is pretty damn satisfying.

So much of British cinema is devoted to this formula: the underdog triumphing over adversity. You root for the prisoners of course, but you won’t get overly invested because the characters aren’t that knowable, and everyone besides Colin is pretty much just petunias (haha, that’s a gardening joke for “filler”). It’s meant, of course, to be charming and up-lifting, but it’s actually quite bland and manages only mild mediocrity. Worth checking out if you miss Clive Owen’s mug, or if you have a thing for Helen Mirren in oversized floral hats, but otherwise fit for the pruning pile.

Children of Men

It’s 2027 and the world’s youngest citizen has just died at the age of 18. People take it hard. With fertility down the tubes, humanity is staring in the face of its own extinction and it’s a pretty bleak picture.

Theo, a former activist, is kidnapped by some scary dudes (Charlie Hunnam, Chiwetel Ejiofor) who turn out to be working for his ex Julian (Julianne Moore). The two haven’t seen each other in 20 years, since their son Dylan died in a flu epidemic, but as the world’s countries have collapsed around them, Julian has led an underground rebellion, and she needs Theo’s help. They need to illegally transport a refugee, Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey), and while Theo’s cousin can secure the necessary papers, they obligate Theo into accompanying her. Which ends up being just as well because shit goes down and Kee needs Theo. But the world needs Kee: turns out, she’s pregnant with the world’s first baby in 18 years. Now it’s up to Theo to get her safely to a refuge at sea, but no one, not the government, not the angry mobs, not Julian’s own people, are going to make it easy for him.

MV5BODQ4ZjMwMjEtMjc0Ni00MzA4LWE3N2ItODA3NmEwNDU3ZTE3L2ltYWdlL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDAxOTExNTM@._V1_First, this doesn’t need to be said but I will say it anyway: fucking Alfonso Cuaron. What a brilliant director. This is just such an astonishing work in film. The sense of urgency is brilliantly sustained throughout. There are so many scenes in this one movie that are best of career, highlight reel stuff that you can never quite catch your breath. There’s a long scene, kind of a car chase in reverse, where the car in question is specially outfitted so that a custom-rigged camera can rotate not just inside the vehicle, but outside the windshield as well. It’s fantastic, heart in throat stuff.

Cuaron stays away from exposition but the film never lacks. We aren’t told much about Theo but we’re shown quite a lot – nearly every scene contains an animal, and that animal is always drawn to him; he never touches a gun; his private cry for Julian; his aborted cigarettes; his seemingly unflappable response to crisis; his need to save others, even strangers. A character emerges without wasting a lot of time on formalities – that’s how you establish a frenetic pace.

And Cuaron’s setting of the film is second to none. It was filmed in 2005, just a few short weeks after London had its own terrorist bombing. Cuaron uses imagery from Pink Floyd (who often sang about oppression, war, and being) and Banksy, a guerilla street artist and political activist. At one point, the camera pans by cages with prisoners inside and one of them gives us a brief glimpse of the “hooded man” from the Abu Ghraib prison torture pictures, seen in the exact pose as the real pictures. There are specific calls to past wars, and political movements (Michael Caine has based his character on the fervent pacifist, John Lennon, Theo’s workplace is a nod to George Orwell’s 1984) but I was surprised how well it holds up, feeling every bit as relevant to today’s issues as those of a decade ago. Which is obviously not a good thing for the world but shows what a specific and visionary film maker Cuaron is. And meticulous. There are so many details, musical cues, religious references, nods to thematically-relevant literature that you lose count. You can’t even notice most upon first-watch, but you absorb them and get immersed in this gritty world and all of its noise and flaws and trauma.

With stunning lensing by Emmanuel Lubezki and astonishing, seamless editing by Cuaron and Alex Rodriguez, Children of Men is must-see moviedom in every sense. Cuaron is an immense talent; his is a filmography that must be discovered and rediscovered at every available opportunity.

Blood Ties

I’m flipping through what Amazon Prime has deemed “top movies,” most of which I’ve seen before, many of which I’d disagree are “top” (some vehemently!), some I’d even disagree are “movies” but there are a couple I haven’t seen, so I take a gamble and click And Did They Listen? The truth is: I myself could not quite bring myself to listen. It’s a documentary that, in THEIR words mind you, is about “history’s only scientifically verified encounter with alien life.” Although the world alien may be misleading – although they appear to have visited in one of those tin-can UFOs that little boys in the 1950s might have dreamed up, they are actually human beings simply from another star universe. And for some reason, though they are touted as highly intelligent beings, they’ve decided to make sole contact with earth through a little boy, who grows up to be quite a crackpot with lots of vague predictions, some of which can’t help but come true. The documentary was so shoddily made and contained so much horseshit I gave up within minutes (and you know what kind of crap I’ll sit through in the name of a review!) – I think you might be better served just looking him up on Wikipedia and calling it a day.

So my second choice was Blood Ties, a 2013 film featuring the likes of Clive Owen, MV5BMjExNzk2OTUxNl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwODMyNzA4MDE@._V1_SX1500_CR0,0,1500,999_AL_Marion Cotillard, Zoe Saladana, Billy Crudup, and James Caan, that I’d somehow never seen. In it, Chris (Owen) is newly released from prison, and goes to live with his brother Frank (Crudup), a cop in 1970s Brooklyn. They did not live happily ever after. Instead, they draw lines, one on each side of the law, and they pull whomever they can down with them. But the whole family thing is just too hard to shake, and like it or not, their fates are pretty much intertwined. Which is a nice way of saying they’re fucked.

Ultimately, Blood Ties is good because it boasts a strong cast. But it flails almost everywhere else. The downward spiral is predicable, and while a movie like this should be about the descent, and not the outcome, the descent is hard to keep track of because there are a few too many subplots to keep score of, and not enough help with our scorecards. In other words: it becomes a chore. And like most chores, it keeps going until well past the point you’d want it to. But it was still preferable to the crazy man who invented a religion based on the spaceships he made out of trash can lids. So there’s that.

Anon

anon-trailer-clive-owen-amanda-seyfried-0“Done before and done better.” I could probably leave that as my comprehensive review of Anon, last week’s Netflix original movie, but what fun would that be?

Anon’s premise is simple. In the future, the police can rewind and review anyone’s point-of-view, so can instantly solve any crime. Except lately, there is a glitch in the Matrix, because killings are carried out without the police being able to see the murderer. It’s up to grumpy cop Clive Owen (whose child died young) to solve these cases before the killer does him in and figure out how Amanda Seyfried’s mysterious hacker fits into the puzzle.

In case it’s not obvious by now, Anon is Minority Report’s fraternal twin, somehow born 16 years after its much more atractive sister. Incidentally, Minority Report is currently available on Netflix, at least in Canada, which seems cruel.  But you’ve seen that one before, right?

If you liked Minority Report (and you would if you have any sense at all) then Anon is exactly mediocre enough to watch before you watch Minority Report again – good enough that you won’t feel like you totally wasted your screen time, and bad enough that it will make you appreciate Minority Report even more.

That’s the unexpected virtue of “done before and done better”, that’s the niche that Anon has found, and that sums up nearly all of Netflix’s “original” content.  There’s  simply no need to waste time coming up with your own original idea when it’s way cheaper and easier to tweak someone else’s, and to be safe Netflix covers its bet by having the original on standby, either as a replacement or a superior second feature. Well played, Netflix. Well played.

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

Long before I saw this movie, I was annoyed with its title. The trailer gave the impression of a crime-fighting intergalactic duo, and yet for some reason only the boy seemed to get credit. It’s based on the graphic novel Valerian and Laureline, which means the author himself thought of them as equal partners, it’s only Hollywood that’s decided to downgrade the woman’s presence while also prancing her about in a bikini at every opportunity.

Having seen it, I see there are way bigger problems. The casting, for instance, made no thumbnail_25961sense at all. Supposedly, Valerian and Laureline are capable, dependable galaxy-savers, but nothing about either of these two gives the impression of a even the remotest shred of competency. I wouldn’t trust them to house sit for me; if they were in charge of saving my world, I’d be biting down on my cyanide tooth. But this movie wants me to believe that not only are they upstanding employees, but ready for marriage, even though they look like perhaps they’re only just now discovering the growth of hair over various private body parts.

Cara Delevingne has only ever managed to be convincing as an underwear model, which is what she was before stumbling into “acting.” When a director casts her in a movie, it’s like they are putting a disclaimer on their movie “Yeah that’s right, this is going to suck. Style over substance!” Her acting technique consists of walking into a room eyebrows-first and saying the line, usually in the direction of the camera. She has the emotional range of a robot but none of a robot’s grace or fluidity. Dane DeHaan, on the other hand, looks like he should be bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. Put these two chuckleheads together and what do you get? Just two dumb rocks in a potato sack. Or, in the case of Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, two dumb rocks in a tin can (aka, space ship). If that wasn’t enough to convince me of its utter superficiality, I guess the sight of Rihanna pole dancing would have pushed me over the edge. Though to be fair, I would have gladly watched her dance for a thousand days rather than see Ethan Hawke play a pimp with a nose ring.

The whole thing was so uncharismatic, the movie almost killed me of boredom. I was so numb I could barely follow the “plot” which, like too much sci-fi fare, consisted of: something’s in danger, someone has to save it, fight, fight, fight, special effects, special effects, the end.

Live Blogging Sin City: A Dame To Kill For

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILAGE AHEAD

Oh hello, old friend. Less than two minutes in and we have our first dead body. Love the feel of these movies, it’s instantly cool. Mickey Rourke as “Marv”. Familiar growl. Loving the stark contrast of the snowfall in black and white. This narrative is reminding me very much of the first one. Like, a LOT. Like, am I accidentally watching the first one?

Nope. It’s the second one. Jessica Alba’s still sexy. How many babies does she have now? Damn.

Oh shit. Man on fire. “Burning meat.” This explains the first dead body – a weird sense of vengeance. Good citizenry on Marv’s part. Ooooh, lots of breaking glass as he flies through the windshield. I hope that means this movie was released in 3D. Aaaannnnd there’s our first explosion, 4 minute mark.

Oooh, getting arrowed half to death, the noosed the rest of the way. And first slit throat, 5:10. White blood gushes toward me and splashes me with the fact that Marv has just murdered a “brand name” – and he happens to be wearing his coat. Oh that Marv. Conveniently can never remember a damn thing.

Credits: lots of old crew back. Some new faces. Tragically no Clive Owen. Stupid. Jeremy Piven? Seriously? Oh fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

Oooh, cool effect on the shuffling deck of cards. Like that.

Joseph Gordon Levitt. I like him. No replacement for Clive Owen, mind you. Looking very young in black and white. Not nearly jaded enough for this movie. He does have the smug asshole look down though. Been practicing that one in the mirror, eh, Joey?

I was super relieved not to see Rory Gilmore in these credits. Now we’re in a bar where we see some colour on the purty, near-naked ladies. Painted lips. Redheads.

Room full of card sharps. Look like white collar criminals by day. Still wearing their bankers’ shirts. Some heavy shit gambling going on in here. And Joey’s already raking in the chips while Jessie’s in another room with sexy laces all up her thighs, spying on the poker as it plays. Oh, Joey’s playing “the senator”. For HIGH stakes. Bound to be trouble. Jessie’s got a gun. Joey’s got the goods and leaves with lots of coin. A cop player warns him to run – he can’t protect him.sincity

Jessica Alba’s back to dancing. Using the gun as a weird prop. And here enters King Willis. Jessica Alba is nearly ready to shoot the senator as he leaves but doesn’t. Bruce mentally whispers for her not to avenge him. It’s very dramatic, the mental whispering.

JGL is showing his floosie a good time on the town but then his credit cards go mysteriously bad. They’re beign followed and it  “smells all wrong.” He confronts the thugs, as big as bulls, and takes them both down. Now he looks clean cut but menacing, a few hairs out of place. He gets into a car with the senator to “go downtown.”

“You made a fool of me, boy.” The senator is displeased.  He’s brought pliers, so others will know that they shouldn’t fuck with power. Oh, yup, those fingers are messed the fuck up! And now he’s shooting him, just for good measure. Now everyone else will knowthe senator’s a super sore loser. What the what? Turns out JGL is “one of his” – ie, the senator’s son. One of many bastards apparently. Shit. Son vows vengeance and knowing this movie, there’ll be plenty of it.

Josh Brolin (Dwight) now, creeping on Ray Liotta and some young blonde. He vows this is the last time because his wife is making threats. Doesn’t stop him from taking her dress off. Josh Brolin taking secret pictures. Didn’t need to see Liotta’s ass, and neither do you. After one last (short) fuck, he’s forced to kill the girl to keep the secret so out comes the gun and – more breaking glass! – Clive Owen’s shitty replacement flies through the skylight to smash Liotta’s face in and save the dame, who, it turns out, is not a blonde, but a REDHEAD.

Some coloured neon lights in “old town”. More throaty narration. Dwight brings the photos to Liotta’s wife, having left him beaten and handcuffed to the bed. He’s dramatically remembering some terrible thing that he did (but not sharing it with us) – must be pretty bad because he calls himself a monster and screams into the night while kneeling next to a cliff. SUPER GODDAMNED DRAMATIC.

Back at the office, Dwight gets a call from Ava. Goes to meet her at a saloon. Jessica Alba (Nancy) is dancing in a red wig. Ava appears, blue coat, worth the wait. As tall as he is. Has been thinking of him. He still cares. She gets whisked away for unpleasant business. Dwight tries to talk himself out of it but has to follow her. Spies on her naked. Glorious. Worth the price of admission.  Dwight is so enthralled by her luscious buttocks slicing through the pool water he gets surprised by henchmen and falls off the roof. She allows him to be beaten. Badly.dame

Tossed out of a car, looking pretty rough. His mustang mysteriously returned to him. Ava naked (with a cigarette) in his bed. Shadows in all the right places. Offers herself to him. He threatens to bash her teeth in. This seems to turn her on. He does in fact smack her good before they kiss. Blowie implied, reverse cowgirl, and then more standing around naked, her beautifully on display, him mercifully shadowed. Tells Dwight that her sadistic rich husband allows her to run away only because he knows she’ll always be found, and then disciplined with her transgressions. And then Manute shows up, or has always been there, and though he’s recently enjoyed beating the crap out of Dwight, he does it again, for good measure. More breaking glass as Dwight goes out the window.

Nancy in chaps. Dwight and Marv at the bar. Drinks. Dwight tells Marv about Ava and his eyes “go killer red.” They charge her compound. Two beasts beat the living crap out of each other. More breaking glass. One literally plucks a pulsing eyeball out of the other. Luc can tell by the look on my face that I’m not liking this bit. Meanwhile, Dwight seeks out the evil, rich husband who’s sitting around in his sexy satin robe. Some red blood. Ava is not really covered in a diaphenous robe that’s pleasingly see through and nipplerrific. She accuses Dwight of murdering an innocent man. Apparently this was her plan all along, and he’s made her a rich woman. She shoots him, vowing never to make her living on her back again. Boy he sure fell for her tricks. Aaaaand breaking glass. Jeez. You know you’re having a bad day when you fly through a window for, what? the third time?

Oh hot damn! Bullet in the eye. Didn’t need to see that. Love how he’s still breathily narrating away though. Tough old bugger. Eye for an eye, eh?

Ava is crying to the cops, fingering Dwight for the whole thing, wearing a few more clothes and not as much smutty lipstick. Tells them a whole tall tale. Jeremy Piven is as annoying as I imagined. Maybe more.

Marv is getting Dwight to a guy he knows who’s good with bullets. The girls of Old Town come out with their guns drawn. Rosario Dawson (Gail) in a weird S&M luchador mask.

Ava is naked again, in the bath. Smutty lipstick in place. Detective calls her. He’s also naked. The better to masturbate by? He’s “thinking about her” (this is code for has wood). She “can’t bear to be alone” which is code for : I wish to manipulate you and he and his wood go running.

Gail and her weird mullet just knew he’d be back. And deadly little Miho! Um, dude, she doesn’t recognize you because a) you used to have 2 eyes and b) you used to be handsome Clive Owen. Miho doesn’t kill him because he saved her ass when she was 15. It is unclear why she was threatening to kill him in the first place. He’s hanging around for “more surgery.”

The detective is of course in love with Ava. Is so turned on by her describing a fictitious rape that he has to fuck her on the spot (um, sensitivity training, anyone?) Even Jeremy Piven is disapproving. Detective humps like a dog. Dwight calls and she answers mid-hump. He’ll be coming for her soon. Ava wants the detecting to kill Dwight, but only if a) he’s a man and b) if he wants to ever fuck her again. Jeremy Piven for some reason just doesn’t understand and so he must die: shot through the eye. 3 eyes in under an hour, folks! Show of hands – who’s doinga happy dance that Piven’s already dead?

Oops. Detective puts gun to his own head. Misses his eyes but this one’s gone too.

Ava’s already loving up on warty mcwarterton – Stacy Keach unrecognizable as Wallenquist – who counsels her to procure Dwight’s suicide, and a suicide note confessing to her crimes. Luckily (I assume), Rosario Dawson is undercover (or simply making a quick couple of bucks) as a waitress at this shindig so when a sketchy dude gets off the train and meets Manute, she’s there to meet him in a blonde wig. The wig budget on this movie must be incredible. Rivals the prosthetic eye budget I bet.

And it turns out sketchy train dude is in fact Dwight, post-op. He has floppy hair now. Like Clive Owen? Except you wish! Manute sees right through the ruse. Henchman does not see through Rosario’s southern accent (possibly the leather bustier is helping). Miho, hiding in the trunk, swords him right through the neck. Sounds wet.

Guess who’s naked again! “You can’t make a sale without showing the goods.” Ava comes on to him and he actually has to steel himself not to fall all over her. Huge explosion. Breaking glass. Oh no, pretty naked girl will have scars! Wait, was that an arrow through the eye? Oh! Multiple beheading!

Manute is cocky – takes 6 shots, but not a single head wound. Four more will kill him though (again, I assume). The only 2 left standing, Dwight and Ava celebrate with a kiss. Their tongues are still touching when he pulls the trigger.

Hey. Little JGL is back, knocking on Doc Brown’s door.  Doc Kroenig in this movie, I guess. Same crazy hair though. Jesus. “Sterilizes” the scalpel with a nice dirty rag wipe. Extricates the bullet in young Johnny’s leg. Trades his shoes to have his fingers straightened. It’s pretty awful. Now he’s shoeless and it’s raining and he’s feeling pretty sorry for himself when he remembers – the girl!

He goes to her, but daddy’s already gotten to her.  Severed hand on the table. Wait. Two severed hands. And there’s her head. Severed. Little Johnny dives through an (open) window to escape. And all he can think about is gambling. Yes, gambling will be his salvation.

Oh shit. Lady Gaga and Madonna’s 1984 eyebrows make an unwanted appearance. She should stick to flushing her music “career” down the toilet. She gives him the buck he needs to get back int eh game.

Tracks daddy down. Gets into the game. Is dealt some good cards, real good, but keeps folding. Pourquoi?

He goes all in. Daddy has 4Kings. Baby has 4 Aces. Oh damn. Little Johnny wins and gets a bullet in the head. But it was a moral victory, right?

Meanwhile, Nancy is visiting Bruce Willis’s grave. He whispers more advice to her as his ghostly self. The senator is fixing to do away with her next – blames her for his yellow son’s death (remember the yellow dude from the first movie?). She’s been hitting the bottle, and the target range.

Nancy wants to show ghost Bruce Willis how she can take down a senator by “going crazy” and like all crazy women, she cuts her own hair. The senator pays her a visit and brings a good old fashioned switchblade. Seems to have the same obsession with making ladies scream  as his yellow son. But the apparition was just a dream? I guess that’s why no one lost an eye.

Next stop on the way to crazy town: smashing your face into a mirror. Using broken mirror shard to cut own face. She’s all stitched up like Frankenstein’s monster and recruits Marv for backup. He’s game. An unexplained motorcycle gang is no obstacle at all.

“There’s no reason to leave anybody alive. Nobody’s innocent.”

When did Nancy learn to shoot a crossbow? She must be watching The Walking Dead. Marv just pops someone’s head. Like, crushes it until it bursts open. And chalk another one up for the eye count. Mirrors continue to be Nancy’s nemesis – she gets confused and in her undoing, the senator shoots her, then sexually harrasses her while she’s down.

Bruce Willis’s ghost to the rescue! The senator sees dead people. Nancy regains upperhand and kills him. Dirty rotten town. Roll credits.

What did I think?

This movies does little to improve upon the first.

“Rehash” comes to mind.

Tries to use women as more than props but given the nudity of our femme fatale, I’m not sure they’ve won any points.

Decent, I suppose, but hollow. The first one felt almost ground breaking, and this one just rode on its laurels. If you have 7 years between films, the audience is going to expect something more. Up the ante. This was just cashing a cheque.