A strange combination of Hard Times and Quick and the Dead, with a touch of Mad Max ... hard to mess up.
But mess up they did.
There are two schools of film criticism. The "auteur" school insists that, before taking pen to paper, you understand everything about the director and writer, to better appreciate what was intended.
The second school does not care what was intended, just what shows up on screen.
Using the yardstick from the second school, I see a film that almost goes out of its way to detract from its own power, to minimize its own kick, to alienate the audience at every opportunity.
The dialog is wretched. The direction so bad as to be perverse and peevish. Ironically Ryan Kwantan and the stunning Freida Pinto are well cast, and in the proper circumstances could have delivered the goods. But like sacrificial pawns in a chess game, their efforts are hampered at every turn.
The sound director in particular should be ashamed. The director chose for unknown reasons to have the characters speak softly all the time, possibly to generate "realism." All this generates is a headache, especially since the soundman allowed every possible noise to block out what the characters were actually saying.
This reviewer almost never looks at a film and wonders aloud how much better it would have been if the Hollywood machine had gotten hold of it...? This one is the exception to the rule.
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