If you could concoct a film that denied you all facts, that could relay a story in disjointed acts, where the edits and acting were cobbled and crude, where the outcomes can't be more distorted and skewed; then sit down, buckle up, as you're in for a ride, watch a plane that's been crippled, without effort just glide, listen in behind doors that can catch all you whisper, it's not long that you think they've all had a good snifter (the writers must have been three sheets at least); be afraid for the money that's been spent of defences, as tugging on wires can outfox all their senses (sight unseen!), be afraid, really worry, you might raise a red flag, if you meet terrorists, with a magical bag, out of which they can conjure an old Russian bomb, and deploy it like they're, in your favourite sitcom.
Review of 97 Minutes
