The 15:17 to Paris (2018)

★★★½

The arrival of The 15:17 to Paris couldn’t be any timelier. Pessimism flows out of Hollywood like a river of spoiled molasses. It’s gotten so thick that seeing a trailer featuring any number of arrogant stars induces a gag reflex. I will not discuss the larger issue of celebrity discontent in this space; that can be better discussed elsewhere. I will discuss how Clint Eastwood’s latest movie eschews casting conventions to deliver a product without the dead weight of superstardom dragging it down like an anchor. There is rage everywhere in the 24-hour news cycle, most of it delivered from C.N.N., M.S.N.B.C. and soapboxes being crushed by the pompous grandstanding of the likes of Madonna and Mark Ruffalo. Now comes Eastwood, to remind us that we don’t need to listen to them. There are better people out there with worthier things to say.

I Spit on Your Grave (2010)

zero stars

The fire started slowly and grew hotter and more intense as I Spit on Your Grave played out. It was an endurance test, orchestrated by filmmakers with questionable motives. Here is a remake that is every bit the movie its superior inspiration was accused of being, serving up improbabilities and clichés without any sort of noble purpose in mind. By the end of the movie, the fire had grown out of control, my blood boiling, putting to test all my efforts to continue watching. If I had stopped watching, I could not declare this the worst movie I’ve ever seen. I did finish and can therefore declare it so. I Spit on Your Grave is the worst movie I’ve ever seen.