Get on your bike and look for work
There’s some life in this beast; a couple of scenes in which Cage looks like a man living well during the last days of Weimar. He snarls and twitches as he tries to intimidate a hood, walking the tightrope that separates high camp from ham, while another scene has him crazed and enflamed, as he rides toward the camera like an epileptic pyromaniac. Yet these instances are few. For much of the running time, Cage barely shows; it’s just another mercenary turn from a man yet to satisfy his creditors. He looks barely cognisant, the feeling being contagious. We hope for more, anticipating further excess when Cage and his cohorts arrive at a Tatooine monastery stacked with good wine and guns, but the brown shirts are already roughing up the cabaret audience; the party’s over.
So our only hope that Spirit of Vengeance may fondle the mind rests with its story but here too, we’re on a hiding to nothing. The setup is paper-thin; hazy talk of a prophesy and a child shaped receptacle (what is Hollywood’s obsession with violating kids?), with characters we have no time nor inclination to know, giving way to listless action and an outbreak of gurning amongst the cast. By the time the film settles down, having an idea that some introductions may be in order, our stock of attentive-capital is all but used up. It’s a pity; the potential was there, but the imagination wasn’t. Still, Cage’s tax bill is a little smaller tonight and consequently there’s hope that one day soon he’ll be able to turn down a pay day like this one or at the very least insist on a re-write before he lets blood on the dotted line.
More of Cage’s tax woes:Pages: 1 2