The strong negative reaction to Walter Hill’s most recent directorial effort has more to do with disappointed expectations than controversial material.
When repetition is the name of the game – and your film isn’t Run Lola Run – it’s not an encouraging sign.
The original may not be the best, but it remains the most cinematic of the series.
For fuck’s sake, even I don’t know what I’m talking about.
Even with expectations properly tempered to the low expectations of the January dumping ground, Blood Wars still comes off as an immense disappointment.
Sometimes, lowered expectations win out over loftier ideals.
Despite the paradoxical gruesomeness and “what if?” curiosity of the premise itself, the entirety of The Purge series has possessed a through-line of altruism and nobility.
Morgan leans more in the direction of Blade Runner’s kinetic action scenes than Ex Machina’s wandering philosophical asides.
Perhaps it’s by providence that I loved Women’s Prison Massacre, wherein atrocity, milked for full exploitation value, is inserted into the narrative and thematic DNA like a fast-dissolving cyanide capsule.
Suicide Squad captures a chaotic, don’t-give-a-fuck madness and embraces its own off-the-rails, barely-stitched-together plot with the same maniacal laughter of Slim Pickens – or Jared Leto’s Joker – riding an A-bomb into oblivion.