Monday, December 12, 2011
Movie Review: Catch .44
It was a bad idea to watch Catch .44 a couple of hours after watching RocknRolla. Both are of the crime movie genre, both were written by their respective directors, and both are flicks that you're supposed to enjoy with your brain shut off. But that's where their similarities end. Whereas RocknRolla was a satisfying joyride in the world of make-believe British gangsters, Catch .44 was a trainwreck.
Not that Catch .44 got everything wrong. It had a lot of great elements. Three young women packing heat and out to dish out some mayhem. Bruce Willis as a sleazeball drug dealer. Forest Whitaker as a bad dude who takes on the personality of the last poor bastard he offed. With a competent writer who could create a story that actually went somewhere and who knew that sequences had to make a point and who wasn't trying too hard to make his own Pulp Fiction and who could create characters you can sympathize with, this would have been a good movie.
But director Aaron Harvey didn't have a writer like that.
The result is a movie that has a few post-production gimmicks because it wants to be called edgy, a Mexican standoff that lasts far longer than is tolerable, three supposedly badass chicks that shoot more with their mouths than they do with their guns, and dialogues that go on and on and on ad nauseam because no one told Harvey to trim them since they're not even close to being as entertaining as Quentin Tarantino's rants and dissertations on pop culture.
That said, stay away from Catch .44. Please.