l i s a l a p e e r y . c o m

As my laughing friend got me up to speed, I realized what was going on. Ice Cube. Samuel Jackson. What more could a woman want in a movie? 

A script? Nah. Simon Kinberg was definitely overpaid on this project. There weren't even any cheesy one-liners-- no chance there'd be a prophetic one-- but Sam Jackson delivered the mundane lines with as much charisma as anyone could. The movie wasn't even on 30 minutes and I was wondering why Sam even accepted this script.  Then there's Ice Cube. Just to hear him speak is nice. Great lines aren't so important. He's no actor, but he's entertaining to watch. He bulked up for this flick, too. Of course William DaFoe did as well as possible even if his character as a general was just predictable.

A believable storyline? Why bother. This movie didn't even abandon the stereotypes. Within the first ten minutes a black man is being chased through the trees by white men in suits. We see the shop where they build vehicles, and the best mechanic is a woman. A sex-oozing woman. Go figure. Black man attempting to save white woman. White woman turning around stabbing the knife in the black man's back. It never ends.

But in between, there are chases, races, explosions, flying, flaming carparts. Lots of fire. Lots of excitement. It felt like the black-man's answer to any Arnold Schwarzenegger flick, from the script to the story to the violence.

No matter that the story made no sense, that the script made me lose my appetite for my buttered popcorn. I hate to say it, but this truly was an entertaining flick. If you like violence and bright balls of fire, see it, when it hits the dollar show.