This Netflix offering is something you
pick almost at random with expectations lower than your ankle socks. Just
fill my eyes up with something. And though while watching it, it is mildly
entertaining with explosions, threats, comedy and killings, there is a little
voice inside your head yelling, let me out. This sort of buddy-action-comedy
film feels so generic and so over done. Lately, these buddy films seem to
follow me like a yelping pet dog. If I was a sociologist, I might wonder
why these male bonding buddy films are so popular lately. Just market driven?
Or does it say something about our age of emptiness? Of our inability to
make real friends in a digital world.
Even dumber than most, this hits heights
of absurdity like a tennis rally. But I did laugh at the beginning. Kevin
Hart thinks of himself as an entrepreneur. He has his own internet channel
selling exercise equipment that keeps beating the hell out of him. And his
latest money making idea is contact-less boxing. It all starts going into
movieland idiocy when he takes his wife on a vacation. He ends up at the
wrong house where he is mistaken for a legendary hitman and torturer. The
Man from Toronto. Woody Harrelson in his Natural Born Killer psycho mode.
He is there to elicit information out of a man. He gets it but the FBI break
up the party and tell him he has to continue to pretend to be the Man from
Toronto. Harrelson is right there watching and they sort of hook up. Blow
up a plane, kill a bunch of people, cut off a thumb, take on other professional
killers. And it is just content for lazy people on a Friday night whose bad
leg makes walking really painful. My excuse anyways. The last 15 minutes
of this in which lots of stuff is blown up and professional killers show
up is everything that is bad about so many action films these days. Loud
is good. Things exploding are good. More parody than plot. But it is amiable
enough for a film in which loads of people are killed. Good for a Friday
night when you have seen everything else.
