It’s like Cops, only less contrived and without the racism.
Nicolas Cage’s performance is some kind of tour de force.
It shares with the Abel Ferrara film a bottomless compassion for its crazies.
The L.A. these officers inhabit looms over them, and with each step they take it presses closer, threatening to consume them entirely.
The film operates under the wretchedly false assumption that it can cover up its derivativeness with flashy sound and fury.
George Hickenlooper’s fascination with the beast of celebrity reaches a gossipmongering low with Factory Girl.
Alpha Dog boasts a menacing drum n’ bass score and lots of meaningless split screen effects.
Scott Caan’s directorial debut certainly aims to tribute.
End-of-the-road Vegas pictures are a dime a dozen, but this desperate contrivance is pretty low on the totem pole.
Think of John Q. as Hollywood’s one-note answer to Jean Valjean.