Overblown simplistic writer's fantasy

Rating: 2/10 (24 October 2011)

So this was the movie to watch these days. An asocial hero hiding a heart of gold and ultra-violence under apparent dumbness. He is not even slightly interesting, he doesn't talk, he lives in his little inner world of cars and precision mechanics, an economy-class emotional bubble that can burst into something relentless.
Ah yes they brought to life the superhero next door, the kind of monster living only in the brains of writers. Bad writers that is. Writers that will happily confuse nothingness with rich inner substance. You want a specific car stunt for $500? Just ask the superhero driver. He needs no careful planning, it's all in his veins. Have some trouble with the local Mafia? Head-on collision is the solution, the silent boy can certainly write off a couple of big mouths and settle it all. Seems some director found the story compelling and convenient though. And viewers bought that sh*, which is most disheartening given the level of gore graphic and gratuitous ultra-violence.
The nihilistic trend sells well as artsy gutsy stuff these days. The Coen bros dood it, and it's now a real consummate genre from Cronenberg's self-inflicted History of Violence to There Will Be Blood. Adding the F-word in movies was an artistic endeavour years ago, now it seems that violence, especially dumb violence, is the way to show off how much more gripping you can do with less substance.