It’s done. I watched DUNKIRK, the last of the four Oscar-nominated movies, this weekend and … well, to put it bluntly, that’s several hours of my life I will never see again!
In the spirit of the Mini Book Review trending about the web right now, I thought to write my own (rather sarcastic, or it that, scathing?) mini movie reviews. You’ve been warned.
Murder on the Orient Express — A movie in which twelve suspects of varying social status have three minutes of screen time to convince Kenneth Branagh—I mean, Poirot—that they are not the killer of Johnny Depp’s despicable character and the obvious bad guy.
With a waveringly bad accent, the heroic Hercule Poirot confronts the suspects—who are artfully arranged at a table in the mouth of the train tunnel to look like Da Vinci’s Last Super—and recounts a series of events in flashback, to solve the mystery.
They all did it!
3 Billboards outside Ebbings, Missouri — A foul-mouth red-neck woman hurls abuse at the town’s Sheriff and his inept, racist department for not finding her daughter’s killer. In a last ditch effort to get the dying Sheriff to find a clue, she rents three billboards to get her message across. More swearing and ultra violence ensues before the Sheriff blows his brains out, and a disgraced deputy miraculously over-hears someone bragging in a bar of his rape conquest.
Disgraced deputy and foul-mouthed woman team up, and go on a road-trip to murder the bragging rapist.
Lady Bird — A dull, coming of-age movie in which the two central characters of a mother and daughter hurl derogatory abuse at one another. Where the character of Christine ‘Lady Bird,’ a senior at Catholic high school about to graduate and go to college, acts like a self-centred spoilt child in a series of lack-lustre vignettes. The two best of which are wasted in the trailer for the movie to make you think this is a comedy. It isn’t.
Dunkirk — A long, slow, and violent look at the evacuation of 400,000 Allied troops from the beaches at Dunkirk, via three interwoven threads, confusingly mixed at random. With a total lack of regard to any continuity, we see disturbing images of men drowning, men being blown up, men running along a beach. Men waiting in long lines out in the open, waiting to be shot at by the enemy. Men screaming and jumping off sinking ships, and drowning in long drawn out sequences to heroic, or jarring music.
There is little or no credible dialogue, as there are few speaking parts. One of which is Kenneth Branagh as a Naval Officer stood on a pier looking heroically out to sea, or to the sky for deliverance. There is none … for him, or for us.
A sad testament to all those who lost their lives at Dunkirk.