I remember when eating bananas was cool. When I was two years old.
Premium Rush is about a bike messenger who kicks ass. By kicks ass, I mean he doesn't even give a shit about traffic or any of the dangers speeding toward him because he wears ear buds and listens to shitty indie music while he's delivering cryptic messages from perverted stalkers to curly haired, blue eyed, hipster queens in New York City. Here's exactly what happens: Joseph Gordon-Levitt delivers a message to a girl wearing a floral dress. She has brown hair and curls and is mysterious. Joey Gordo gets all hot and bothered about her. The next day he makes the same delivery. This time the girl is distressed and asks to ride on his handlebars away to freedom. There's a montage scene of them doing a bunch of cool free stuff because the generation this movie is trying to appeal to doesn't have enough money to do any of that shit after they see this movie. Then she rides his handlebars next to a fireplace. The person she is trying to outrun is an evil mob guy who wants to harvest her curls for wigs to sell to the elite in China; Joey Gordo ain't having none of that. He outruns these crazies on the street like nobody's business and leads them to their own demise. Joey Gordo saves the girl and the world. Somewhere in this pile of reclaimed sewage water is a message about how biking looks cooler than driving a car. This picture proves that horseshit wrong:
Hit & Run is a movie that probably proves Premium Rush's point about cars. It makes driving a car look like the worst possible decision you can make short of watching a road trip movie.
I was probably the only person in the theater who was still awake at the end of Sleepwalk With Me, not because I was engrossed in the film but, because I have terrible insomnia and was hoping this movie would put me to sleep. My body seemed to be aware of the tomfoolery I was doing and refused to fall asleep out of spite. Perhaps I shouldn't have ordered a 100 oz Coca Cola. Sleepwalk With Me has one thing going for it though: much like the amnesia of sleepwalking, I wouldn't be able to tell you a damn thing about this movie.
Little White Lies is a story of little white people telling lies. It's a nice diversion from the usual big white people telling lies that we're so used to in God's country: AMERICA. But it's French so it's obviously an impotent take on something an American has already done better.
Thunderstruck stars Kevin Durant who does kick ass. His acting skills are on par with Kobe's rapping skills and slightly beneath Shaquille O'Neal's Facebook status update skills. Seriously, are you a fan of Shaq on Facebook? That guy doesn't shut up. Some nameless "clumsy" kid wants to have skills on basketball so Kevin Durant helps him out. The kid realizes that basketball isn't for him so he joins an accounting summer camp to please his dad. Kevin Durant smiles as the credits roll. The message seems to be don't dream or stay the fuck out of Kevin Durant's turf.