"The Citadel," A. J. Cronin's shocking expose of unethical practices in the medical profession, which laid the groundwork for the NHS, must not be confused with Amazon's latest cartoon spectacle, the less definitely titled "Citadel," which lays, well, let's just say it lays. If you don't know what, the first two episodes ought to inform you. I stopped watching after the second. Frankly, I don't know why I bothered to watch at all.
If live-action animation is something you relish, as I suspect many do, then by all means cast your gaze upon it. The narrative (too generous a word) moves along rapidly like a Watson and Skinner behavioral-modification, brainwashing film. There's a lot of jibber-jabber about plutonium and spies and implants and memories being wiped and a new world order lead by Leslie Manville, still in the throes of her bitchy Princess Margaret.
The late great Stanley Tucci pops up (as he seems to be doing often lately) in the role of bald, sardonic sidekick, accepting the torch, with no apparent shame, from Ben Kingsley and Patrick Stewart. Apparently, like them, he's entered the underwriting phase of his career.
There's really no point in going any further. The CGI codependent story, if you care, is a mashup of everything you've ever seen before and less, with the requisite amount of explosions, firepower, combat choreography, head banging, body slamming, and hushed whispers (so you know it's serious, or not worth hearing). But fear not, the heroes remain forever attractive, resilient, and bulletproof, even Mr. Tucci, for whom acting, it seems, has become a capital gain.
If live-action animation is something you relish, as I suspect many do, then by all means cast your gaze upon it. The narrative (too generous a word) moves along rapidly like a Watson and Skinner behavioral-modification, brainwashing film. There's a lot of jibber-jabber about plutonium and spies and implants and memories being wiped and a new world order lead by Leslie Manville, still in the throes of her bitchy Princess Margaret.
The late great Stanley Tucci pops up (as he seems to be doing often lately) in the role of bald, sardonic sidekick, accepting the torch, with no apparent shame, from Ben Kingsley and Patrick Stewart. Apparently, like them, he's entered the underwriting phase of his career.
There's really no point in going any further. The CGI codependent story, if you care, is a mashup of everything you've ever seen before and less, with the requisite amount of explosions, firepower, combat choreography, head banging, body slamming, and hushed whispers (so you know it's serious, or not worth hearing). But fear not, the heroes remain forever attractive, resilient, and bulletproof, even Mr. Tucci, for whom acting, it seems, has become a capital gain.