Revolver Guy Ritchie

Revolver Guy Ritchie
Revolver is not unlike those people who pay credit card debts by getting more credit cards. It starts with a bad idea that we might have shrugged off and lived with and follows it up with ever more bad ideas, topping itself every five minutes until a mediocre crime thriller has become so amazingly terrible that it ends up in a pit of despair with nowhere to turn. Jason Statham has the unenviable task of embodying Guy Ritchie’s staggeringly banal homilies about "the ego,” which means that our man feels compelled to square off against the gangster (Ray Liotta) who sent him up the river seven years ago. Tortuous circumstances in pursuit of this end lead this hero to become the pawn of a couple of loan sharks (Andre Benjamin and Vincent Pastore) whose origins are supposed to be shadowy but will be instantly apparent the moment a "mystery” is floated. Numerous racist/misogynist action interludes are provided to remind you of that the director is badass, but Ritchie is one of those two-bit wannabes whose constant adolescent fronting can’t help but expose him as a poser and a rube. We all know that’s par for his course but the man fancies himself a metaphysical dynamo this time, meaning what might have seemed a buzzing nuisance ten years ago is now a frenzy of puerile pontificating and surreal disconnect. If Ritchie strains to be "original,” I guess he could be said to succeed; Revolver is like nothing else on earth, and thank God for that. The special features are fittingly delusional, with a commentary by Ritchie and editor James Herbert that gives full flower to the director’s non-philosophy, while several featurettes do the same for his collaborators. A deleted scenes reel and a photo gallery complete the package. (Sony)