At least a half hour of torture porn that somehow managed to be boring and repetitive, followed by rapid-fire spitting of Arabic names I had likely read before, but could not place (nor did any of them get explained much).
The propagandistic propping up of the old saw that torture got any useful information, let alone being the key unlocking the hiding place of Osama.
A pasty mushroom-woman neurotic central character who took down the world's most wanted with a series of tics, spasms, and outbursts of hissy fits interrupting her otherwise cold, clammy, affectless demeanor.
A fairly good video game version (complete with dirty-screen overlay) of the actual raid in Pakistan. Worth the ticket? No, but I cared much more about the Navy Seal team than I did about the careerist, torture-loving wanks at the CIA the film massaged so lovingly.
So, we have, overall, a stew of nastiness that the critics love. I walked away muttering, "I'll never trust the critics again." Which only confirmed what I was muttering when I left The Master. More than that, this movie had dialog your average 15-year-old could have written. The Master at least felt like a 17-year-old wrote it.
I rate it: Zero, zilch, nada.
More: Senators write angry letters about the movie's central point, and the CIA's playing footsie with the picture people.
None of my writing hidden in my cave from the masses and especially government agencies have been made in to movies. Whats fair about that? Everything! I should get out more.
ReplyDelete