I've had a particularly bad film year, especially after having seen one particular over-hyped vacuous mess earlier in the year which all but killed my desire to see any films, no matter how interesting they looked or what the critics said about them. So, it was with a little trepidation that I went to see this, especially given that it starred Clive Owen (IMHO, the George Lazenby of British acting).
Well, I loved it and I'm not ashamed. It's unremittingly bleak and violent, but so beautifully filmed and realised that, at one point, I damn nearly burst into tears that someone could have created something so fresh and so moving, so provocative, so disturbing and so grimly beautiful. I thought it brought a real sense of imagination to the screen and that it was possessed of a fantastic visual flair. I felt that it ended on a note of hope, however uncertain and unclear, and certainly a note of redemption for the hero. I'll admit that Owen, while he still hasn't convinced me that he's a great actor, pulls off this role with a hangdog...um, doggedness that I found believable and often even moving.
I left the cinema strangely elated, relieved that cinema still has the power to move.
Well, I loved it and I'm not ashamed. It's unremittingly bleak and violent, but so beautifully filmed and realised that, at one point, I damn nearly burst into tears that someone could have created something so fresh and so moving, so provocative, so disturbing and so grimly beautiful. I thought it brought a real sense of imagination to the screen and that it was possessed of a fantastic visual flair. I felt that it ended on a note of hope, however uncertain and unclear, and certainly a note of redemption for the hero. I'll admit that Owen, while he still hasn't convinced me that he's a great actor, pulls off this role with a hangdog...um, doggedness that I found believable and often even moving.
I left the cinema strangely elated, relieved that cinema still has the power to move.