Going undercover seems like it would be pretty f--king great. Honestly.
Infiltrating some nefarious organization with the hopes of blowing it to Hell from the inside out, would be like, the coolest shit ever. Yeah, it would suck when I'd inevitably end up balls deep, Donnie Brasco-style, and unable to turn off the charade, likely disappearing into the requisite facial hair forever.
But as much as losing everything in my real life would bother me, what would really keep me up at night?
All the goddamn studying. You gotta know f--king everything.
After a relatively compelling preview, I schemed out quite the f--king elaborate plan to catch an opening-day matinee of American Assassin. And after I had arranged all the fringe players (uh, my mom...and my wife, to a degree), clearly defined their roles in the covert operation, I made the soul-crushing mistake of doing a little extra reconnaissance. And by that, clearly I mean I skimmed the early, mostly shit-tastic reviews.
While I was convinced that no film starring Michael Keaton as a military hardass could be anything less than f--king brilliant, trust me when I say this movie basically sucks. It has all the components to be a competent revenge thriller, but unless you're a thirteen year-old girl (who has never been to the movies), the only thing American Assassin kills is about two hours of your life. Good thing on that day...I had nothing but time.
Though it seems in (extra) poor taste in light of current events, the film opens with a lovely young couple enjoying a vacation at a picturesque beach resort. The dude, Mitch, proposes to his impossibly sexy girlfriend...moments before some terrorist motherf--kers show up and start indiscriminately gunning people down. Mitch gets hit, but he's going to make it. The love of his life? Uh, no. She's gone. And when we next see Mitch eighteen months later, he is too. Instead of that romantic goofball on the beach, he's basically become the f--king Terminator, training to kill anybody and everybody that had a hand in the death of his woman. Aww.
Infiltrating some nefarious organization with the hopes of blowing it to Hell from the inside out, would be like, the coolest shit ever. Yeah, it would suck when I'd inevitably end up balls deep, Donnie Brasco-style, and unable to turn off the charade, likely disappearing into the requisite facial hair forever.
But as much as losing everything in my real life would bother me, what would really keep me up at night?
All the goddamn studying. You gotta know f--king everything.
After a relatively compelling preview, I schemed out quite the f--king elaborate plan to catch an opening-day matinee of American Assassin. And after I had arranged all the fringe players (uh, my mom...and my wife, to a degree), clearly defined their roles in the covert operation, I made the soul-crushing mistake of doing a little extra reconnaissance. And by that, clearly I mean I skimmed the early, mostly shit-tastic reviews.
While I was convinced that no film starring Michael Keaton as a military hardass could be anything less than f--king brilliant, trust me when I say this movie basically sucks. It has all the components to be a competent revenge thriller, but unless you're a thirteen year-old girl (who has never been to the movies), the only thing American Assassin kills is about two hours of your life. Good thing on that day...I had nothing but time.
Though it seems in (extra) poor taste in light of current events, the film opens with a lovely young couple enjoying a vacation at a picturesque beach resort. The dude, Mitch, proposes to his impossibly sexy girlfriend...moments before some terrorist motherf--kers show up and start indiscriminately gunning people down. Mitch gets hit, but he's going to make it. The love of his life? Uh, no. She's gone. And when we next see Mitch eighteen months later, he is too. Instead of that romantic goofball on the beach, he's basically become the f--king Terminator, training to kill anybody and everybody that had a hand in the death of his woman. Aww.
