Gilmour93

An average crime film that begins to shift into burlesque waters with the arrival of George Segal, reminiscent of the series Magnum, thereby losing its character and dynamism. On top of that, there’s Stick (or rather Styk) Reynolds, who, with his slimy mustache drawn on with a marker, lecherously circles around a financial consultant only to later injure her hips as part of his seven-year sexual drought's conclusion. It could be dismissed easily, but there are details worth noting. The atmosphere is enhanced by the electronic score from Joseph Conlan, a clever stunt for action aficionados when Dar Robinson, aka the albino killer, uses his invention, the decelerator, during a fall from a building (which is a whole different ballgame compared to when Hans Gruber falls). And last but not least, the setting gives you the feeling that Tony Montana might appear at any moment in some brightly colored shirt.

In the first minutes, drone shots entice tourists with the beauty of Malta, but then Isaac Florentine fails to deliver anything captivating in his story of revenge and ash in the hair of the American president. Frank Grillo, who reads Greek Stoics here, but evidently only to crush someone's throat with the spine of the book, surprisingly isn’t the most prominent element on set, as he’s overshadowed by Rhona Mitra, emerging from wet dreams. However, what’s starting to lose its form is the T-1000. In a sprint after young Connor on a motorcycle, she would be out of breath in just a few seconds.

No fearful symmetry. Will we first be served meatloaf, a sweaty thigh, frail autistic lamb, or a piece of stepfather’s pig? Given the skills of the hungry kitty, which is better at smashing phones calling 911 than hunting, we can’t expect any surprises from the menu. It’s probably clear that if Briana Evigan had been in a bathrobe and curlers the whole time, the percentage rating here would be significantly lower.