nb-38
Entrou em fev. de 2006
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Selos2
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Avaliações4
Classificação de nb-38
I want my money back--with punitive damages for insulting my intelligence.
Let's start with what seems to be the premise: An ex-CIA agent raises his daughter to be an expert assassin.
Mr. Master-Killer raises his daughter in the remote wilderness of Finland, and, while we see he spends a great deal of time instructing her on the fine-points of deception, killing, general mayhem, blue whales and supernovae, (the latter two *so* important in the everyday workings of espionage and assassination. Great for a well-rounded education, though), it never seems to have occurred to this so-called super-spy that she may need to actually *experience* civilization: At one point we see the girl marveling at a fluorescent light--to the amazement of an innkeeper. Hanna mentions to said innkeeper how she believes electricity was *invented* by Thomas Edison. Huh? What?
So much for a well-rounded education.
Hanna doesn't know civilization, people, conversation, propriety--anything, really, beyond killing efficiently and without mercy.
While Saoirse Ronan is superb in her role as an innocent(?) miscreant, Cate Blanchet--an otherwise unique and dynamic actress--struggles with the character she portrays, and one can only wonder what evil stroke of nature forced her to take the role. Eric Bana is his usual, banal self, and--much like his appearance in Star Trek--could have phoned in his boring, lackluster performance.
This travesty was scripted by two writers having almost no credits between them: Seth Lochhead and David Farr. Having suffered through this disgrace, I can only conclude that they must live in their respective Mommys' basements and really, really, desperately need to get out more. At the very least, they need to start reading. Anything. Anything at all--which they clearly don't. The writers show little knowledge of the world as you and I know it, and are absolutely clueless as to the workings, intrigues and procedures of the intelligence community. They are equally clueless as to what make a good script.
As, apparently, are the producers.
The writing is abhorrent; the film-work, competent though visually dismal; the premise, fascinating; the execution of the premise, awful.
And--the least annoying thing in a film chock full of annoying things, but indicative of the film's total disregard for reality, (and the intelligence of the audience)--why couldn't they even get the CIA's logo right?
My advice: Spend your time watching something better thought-out, researched, written, and far more cerebral.
The Three Stooges comes to mind.
Let's start with what seems to be the premise: An ex-CIA agent raises his daughter to be an expert assassin.
Mr. Master-Killer raises his daughter in the remote wilderness of Finland, and, while we see he spends a great deal of time instructing her on the fine-points of deception, killing, general mayhem, blue whales and supernovae, (the latter two *so* important in the everyday workings of espionage and assassination. Great for a well-rounded education, though), it never seems to have occurred to this so-called super-spy that she may need to actually *experience* civilization: At one point we see the girl marveling at a fluorescent light--to the amazement of an innkeeper. Hanna mentions to said innkeeper how she believes electricity was *invented* by Thomas Edison. Huh? What?
So much for a well-rounded education.
Hanna doesn't know civilization, people, conversation, propriety--anything, really, beyond killing efficiently and without mercy.
While Saoirse Ronan is superb in her role as an innocent(?) miscreant, Cate Blanchet--an otherwise unique and dynamic actress--struggles with the character she portrays, and one can only wonder what evil stroke of nature forced her to take the role. Eric Bana is his usual, banal self, and--much like his appearance in Star Trek--could have phoned in his boring, lackluster performance.
This travesty was scripted by two writers having almost no credits between them: Seth Lochhead and David Farr. Having suffered through this disgrace, I can only conclude that they must live in their respective Mommys' basements and really, really, desperately need to get out more. At the very least, they need to start reading. Anything. Anything at all--which they clearly don't. The writers show little knowledge of the world as you and I know it, and are absolutely clueless as to the workings, intrigues and procedures of the intelligence community. They are equally clueless as to what make a good script.
As, apparently, are the producers.
The writing is abhorrent; the film-work, competent though visually dismal; the premise, fascinating; the execution of the premise, awful.
And--the least annoying thing in a film chock full of annoying things, but indicative of the film's total disregard for reality, (and the intelligence of the audience)--why couldn't they even get the CIA's logo right?
My advice: Spend your time watching something better thought-out, researched, written, and far more cerebral.
The Three Stooges comes to mind.
This is Phillip Kim's very first screenplay. If there is any justice in the world it will be his last.
I wasted 101 minutes on this turkey. Don't make the same mistake.
Two-dollar budget, one-dollar characters, confused, contradictory and abysmal script and a director who couldn't direct traffic on a Sunday morning. Not an original idea in it. Either the investors didn't read the script, or they *read* the script and figured it was a great tax write-off.
The movie has two, flawed, premises: The world will soon run out of oil--which proves typist Phillip Kim, (can't truthfully call him a writer), spends too much time reading comic books instead of scientific journals--and that a world-wide cancer wiped out the female population, (Frank Herbert did that far, far better in "The White Plague"). The fact that there are a number of females in the film--most of whom say and do nothing and don't really need to be there--shows that the typist couldn't stay on track with his own inept plot.
Skip Downstream--better yet, *toss* it downstream--and watch the better post-apocalyptic movies this disgrace has ripped off: A Boy and his Dog. Logan's Run. Mad Max. The Postman. Even Waterworld is a far better film.
Did I mention this movie is bad?
I wasted 101 minutes on this turkey. Don't make the same mistake.
Two-dollar budget, one-dollar characters, confused, contradictory and abysmal script and a director who couldn't direct traffic on a Sunday morning. Not an original idea in it. Either the investors didn't read the script, or they *read* the script and figured it was a great tax write-off.
The movie has two, flawed, premises: The world will soon run out of oil--which proves typist Phillip Kim, (can't truthfully call him a writer), spends too much time reading comic books instead of scientific journals--and that a world-wide cancer wiped out the female population, (Frank Herbert did that far, far better in "The White Plague"). The fact that there are a number of females in the film--most of whom say and do nothing and don't really need to be there--shows that the typist couldn't stay on track with his own inept plot.
Skip Downstream--better yet, *toss* it downstream--and watch the better post-apocalyptic movies this disgrace has ripped off: A Boy and his Dog. Logan's Run. Mad Max. The Postman. Even Waterworld is a far better film.
Did I mention this movie is bad?