Let this film serve as the death knell to the "big twist" films borne out of the 1990s. Known in some circles as The Kyser Soze Syndrome, this cinematic slight of hand has now been done to death by M. Night Shayamalan and even Ron Howard used a variation in A BEAUTIFUL MIND. However, in REVOLVER, director Guy Ritchie (known in some circles as "Mr. Madonna"), utilizes the Soze motif in a far more obsequious manner.
Jason Statham (with a highly questionable head of hair) stars as Jack Green (known to all as "Mr. Green.") He may or may not also be criminal mastermind Mr. Gold. Or, perhaps Mr. Gold is an irritable spirit who can possess members of the underworld. I'm not quite certain, but I certainly don't care. REVOLVER is one of the most overwrought examples of cinematic excess I've had the displeasure to endure in quite a long time. Witness the fractured time structure, the painful jump cuts, the ceaseless inner-monologues, and the painfully pretentious animated sequence. This "everything and the kitchen sink" directing style makes Quentin Tarantino's oeuvre look sedate. The cinematic smoke and mirrors only lead me to believe that Ritchie was as bored telling this trite tale as I was watching it.
The film is filled with moments of revelation that are supposedly shocking but they only come as news to Mr. Green. I wanted to like Green as I always enjoy Stratham as a character who is two steps ahead of everyone else. Here, though, he struggles along like a remedial reader in a University English Literature class. His lack of wit is only matched by the lack of restraint shown by his nemesis, Macha (Ray Liotta). Feasting on scenery like a starving man at a smorgasbord, Liotta spits, cries, and fumes through the film in an embarrassing display of overacting and leopard print speedos.
There are no redeeming qualities to REVOLVER. It's yet another filmic faux pas from Ritchie and might even outdo his wretched remake of SWEPT AWAY as his worst film yet.
Jason Statham (with a highly questionable head of hair) stars as Jack Green (known to all as "Mr. Green.") He may or may not also be criminal mastermind Mr. Gold. Or, perhaps Mr. Gold is an irritable spirit who can possess members of the underworld. I'm not quite certain, but I certainly don't care. REVOLVER is one of the most overwrought examples of cinematic excess I've had the displeasure to endure in quite a long time. Witness the fractured time structure, the painful jump cuts, the ceaseless inner-monologues, and the painfully pretentious animated sequence. This "everything and the kitchen sink" directing style makes Quentin Tarantino's oeuvre look sedate. The cinematic smoke and mirrors only lead me to believe that Ritchie was as bored telling this trite tale as I was watching it.
The film is filled with moments of revelation that are supposedly shocking but they only come as news to Mr. Green. I wanted to like Green as I always enjoy Stratham as a character who is two steps ahead of everyone else. Here, though, he struggles along like a remedial reader in a University English Literature class. His lack of wit is only matched by the lack of restraint shown by his nemesis, Macha (Ray Liotta). Feasting on scenery like a starving man at a smorgasbord, Liotta spits, cries, and fumes through the film in an embarrassing display of overacting and leopard print speedos.
There are no redeeming qualities to REVOLVER. It's yet another filmic faux pas from Ritchie and might even outdo his wretched remake of SWEPT AWAY as his worst film yet.