Time has been kind to 12 Monkeys, a compelling and unnerving genre exercise that boasts what may be Bruce Willis’s finest performance.
The tacky and loose means by which the platitudinous screenplay dances around what ails the football players is just one cog in a whirligig of pat representations.
Everything here is needlessly bloated to accommodate its status as an international, prestige production.
Craig William Macneill’s film is a sporadically frightening slow burn with a fatally overlong fuse.
This is an irritating table-setting episode in which the characters constantly explain how the pieces fit together.
All the central characters have moments here in which they, for all intents and purposes, might well be dead.
Those familiar with Les Blank’s malleable approach to documentary production will recognize that energy in its nascent form.
For a story so unconventional, it’s executed without director Alexandre Aja’s typical commitment to anarchic awe.
Its offbeat aesthetic largely flaunts for appeal, suffocating character and thematic ambition underneath its flashiness.
The zombies twitch, leap, gnash, and destroy, but the film has all the thrill and surprise of a model U.N. summit.
To reveal which film Passengers conspicuously resembles would be to spoil its central surprise.