by Sylvestre Picard
When, even in the most B of B series, an author manages to inject his obsessions and make them identifiable, that’s when we recognize him, it seems. In this case: the portrait of the killer played by Mark Wahlberg, a sadomasochistic and grimacing sex addict who spends his time describing the abuse he dreams of inflicting on Topher Grace and Michelle Dockery, while suffering himself terrible pain. This is how Mel Gibson appropriates, and hacks in his own way, this funny but still quite banal project, the script of which could have been found in the junk mail of Jaume Collet-Serra (a US marshal, his prisoner and a hitman are stuck on a plane over Alaska). It’s just that the gulf between its previous and very beautiful You will not kill (2016, and yes) and this microphone Wings of Hell is still abysmal. It seems that he is still preparing the sequel to The Passion of Christ…
by Sylvestre Picard
When, even in the most B of B series, an author manages to inject his obsessions and make them identifiable, that’s when we recognize him, it seems. In this case: the portrait of the killer played by Mark Wahlberg, a sadomasochistic and grimacing sex addict who spends his time describing the abuse he dreams of inflicting on Topher Grace and Michelle Dockery, while suffering himself terrible pain. This is how Mel Gibson appropriates, and hacks in his own way, this funny but still quite banal project, the script of which could have been found in the junk mail of Jaume Collet-Serra (a US marshal, his prisoner and a hitman are stuck on a plane over Alaska). It’s just that the gulf between its previous and very beautiful You will not kill (2016, and yes) and this microphone Wings of Hell is still abysmal. It seems that he is still preparing the sequel to The Passion of Christ…
