No kiss goodbye from the wife as she straightens my tie, no last sip of coffee as I tussle the hair of my lil' slugger. Nope. Instead, I stumble out of my house with the grace and gait of someone just recently rescued from sea, drive the thirty-one post-apocalyptic miles to a job that makes me wish I was dead. Or undead, depending on the radiation levels and bust size of my fellow zombies.
But between you and me? Those two mindless, traffic-filled hours aren't all bad. It's basically the only part of my day where no one needs anything from me, and I can just sit there, not giving a damn, shit or f--k. I just coast along, chasing whatever money they'll give me.
The Commuter, Liam Neeson's latest January journey, doesn't exactly coast along, but good luck giving a damn, shit or f--k about it. I'm glad that a ton of people got paid in the production of this movie, yay them!, but this flick felt like the ultimate rip-off. And at this point, we're so far down the Don't f--k with Liam Neeson rabbit hole, I'm not even sure what film this one cribs from the most. Oh, I know. The one where they f--k with the wrong guy's family, and he's reluctantly forced to do something about it.
Yeah. That one.
Seemingly moments after establishing that college is gonna be (perhaps too) expensive for oh Danny boy, Neeson's Michael MacCauley shows up at work and promptly gets shit-canned. I'ts been real, Mike, but ya gotsta go.
And breaking all stereotypes, the massive Irishman heads to a bar to hang out with a bunch of cops, who apparently, he used to work with. Wait, what? An ex-cop who just lost his job and desperately needs cash? What could possibly happen next?
Oh, right. A beautiful women will approach him on the train-ride home, provide him with the most cryptic way possible to make a little extra money, and chaos and conspiracy will ensue. The gig? All he has to do is find the premise that does not belong. Er, person. Find the person that doesn't belong. And identify them. So they can be murdered. Um, I think.
*raises hand* Uh, Mr. Neeson? I'm pretty sure I don't belong here.
Feel free to shoot me in the head. Or the nuts.