Guilty Pleasure No. 117: Gone in 60 Seconds (dir. by Dominic Sena)

Posted on May 22, 2026 by Arleigh

There is a specific, almost alchemical quality to the late 1990s and early 2000s era of Nicolas Cage as an action star. Before the internet turned every one of his performances into a meme and before his financial troubles led him down the rabbit hole of direct-to-video oddities, Cage was genuinely one of the most exciting and weirdly compelling action heroes on the planet. From The Rock in 1996 to Con Air in 1997 and Face/Off in 1997, he delivered a holy trinity of high-octane insanity that no other actor could have pulled off. By the time the calendar flipped to 2000, Cage was at the peak of his powers, and director Dominic Sena’s Gone in 60 Seconds arrived as both a victory lap and a slight exhale. It is not as unhinged as Face/Off nor as tightly wound as The Rock, but it is a perfect snapshot of its moment: a glossy, MTV-infused car heist flick that smells like gasoline, leather, and late-90s hubris. And while it has plenty of shortcomings, Gone in 60 Seconds has earned its place not in the pantheon of great action cinema, but in that more beloved hall of fame: the Guilty Pleasure.

The plot is as simple as a carburetor. Cage plays Randall “Memphis” Raines, a legendary car thief who has supposedly gone straight, now living a quiet life designing hybrid engines. But when his reckless younger brother Kip, played with sweaty desperation by Giovanni Ribisi, botches a job for a ruthless British gangster named Raymond Calitri (Christopher Eccleston at his sleaziest), Memphis is forced back into the life he left behind. The task is absurdly impossible: steal 50 specific luxury cars in a single weekend, or Calitri will kill Kip. That’s right, fifty cars. In three days. The film never really bothers to explain the logistics of storing or delivering that many vehicles, but that’s not the point. The point is the ride, the revving engines, and the way Cage stares at a 1967 Shelby GT500 named Eleanor like she’s the ghost of a lost lover. That car is the real star, and the film knows it.

Dominic Sena, who previously directed Cage in the underrated road thriller Kalifornia, brings a music video sensibility to the proceedings. Gone in 60 Seconds is drenched in late-90s visual tics: slow-motion shots of hubcaps spinning, golden sunsets glaring off polished chrome, and a soundtrack that alternates between nu-metal grooves and bluesy rock. The editing is fast but not confusing, and the heist sequences have a rhythmic, almost choreographed feel. You never believe for a second that Memphis and his crew—a motley collection of oddballs played by Robert Duvall, Vinnie Jones, and a very underutilized Angelina Jolie—can actually pull off fifty thefts without the entire LAPD catching on. But the film operates on movie logic. Cars are hotwired in seconds, police radio chatter is effortlessly avoided, and every chase defies the laws of physics. It is pure fantasy, and that is exactly why it works as a guilty pleasure.

Now, let’s talk about Cage. In 2000, he was still riding the high of that legendary late-90s run, and Gone in 60 Seconds fits neatly into his brand of action star as tortured romantic. Memphis Raines is not the coked-up lunatic Castor Troy or the shouty Stanley Goodspeed. He is weary, melancholic, and trying to be honorable in a dishonorable profession. Cage plays him with a hangdog sincerity that is surprisingly effective. When he talks to Eleanor, stroking her steering wheel and whispering about how she tests her drivers, he is utterly committed. There is no irony, no winking at the camera. That is the secret to Cage’s enduring appeal in this era: he treats absurd material with the same intensity he would bring to a Shakespeare soliloquy. The action sequences—especially the climactic chase where Eleanor leaps over a drawbridge—showcase Cage’s physicality and willingness to do real stunt work. He sells the danger and the desperation. You believe that this man would risk everything for a car, and that belief makes the film’s silliness palatable.

But let’s be honest about the shortcomings, because Gone in 60 Seconds has plenty. The middle act drags considerably. For a movie about stealing fifty cars, there is a surprising amount of standing around in warehouses and having conversations about “respecting the machine.” Angelina Jolie’s character, Sara, is Memphis’s ex-girlfriend and a fellow thief, but she is given almost nothing to do except look cool in leather and exchange tepid romantic banter with Cage. The chemistry between them is nonexistent. Christopher Eccleston’s Calitri is a one-note villain who likes opera and cruelty, and his final defeat is laughably abrupt. Delroy Lindo plays a dogged detective, but he is so incompetent that he never generates real tension. The film’s central gimmick—the ticking clock of fifty cars in three days—is inconsistently tracked, and by the final act, you have no idea how many cars are left or why it still matters. The dialogue is also gloriously corny. Lines like “Ride or die” and “Respect the car, man” are delivered with such straight faces that they circle back around to being endearing.

And yet, Gone in 60 Seconds earns its status as a guilty pleasure because it understands exactly what it is. This is not a sophisticated heist thriller like Heat or a gritty crime drama. It is a shiny, high-budget B-movie about a man and his car, and it leans into that identity without apology. The final twenty-minute chase sequence is genuinely thrilling, with real cars being destroyed and practical stunts that modern CGI could never replicate. Eleanor getting airborne, landing hard, and somehow still running is a moment of pure cinematic joy. The sound design—the roar of that V8 engine, the screech of tires on asphalt—is visceral and satisfying. And Cage’s performance, even when the script lets him down, holds the whole thing together. He is the anchor that keeps the film from floating away into utter nonsense.

Looking back from today’s perspective, Gone in 60 Seconds is a time capsule of a very specific moment. It captures the tail end of the late-90s obsession with extreme sports, tuner culture, and the idea that cars had souls. It also captures Nicolas Cage at a fascinating crossroads: still an A-list action star, still capable of opening a blockbuster, but already showing the signs of the wonderful weirdness that would later define his career. This film is not his best, not by a long shot, but it is one of his most rewatchable. You put it on when you want to turn your brain off, hear some great engine noises, and watch a sweaty, sincere Nic Cage talk to a Shelby like she is his long-lost sweetheart. That is the definition of a guilty pleasure. It is not good in the traditional sense, but it is fun. And sometimes, fun is enough.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Guilty Pleasure No. 110: Undercover Brother (dir. by Malcolm D. Lee)

Posted on April 5, 2026 by Arleigh

Undercover Brother is exactly the kind of movie that earns the phrase “guilty pleasure.” It is messy, broad, and often ridiculous, but it is also packed with enough energy, attitude, and sharp-enough satire to make its flaws feel like part of the joke rather than dealbreakers. The result is a comedy that may not always land cleanly, but it absolutely understands its own vibe and commits to it hard.

At the center of it all is Eddie Griffin, who gives the title character a big, swaggering, old-school cool that carries the movie through its shaggier patches. He plays Undercover Brother as a throwback spy hero with a giant Afro, loud fashion sense, and nonstop confidence, and that exaggerated persona is a big reason the film works as well as it does. Griffin’s performance is not subtle, but subtlety is not really the point here; he sells the movie’s cartoonish energy without making it feel lazy.

What makes Undercover Brother more than just a random parody is how committed it is to poking at both blaxploitation iconography and mainstream spy-movie clichés. The film was directed by Malcolm D. Lee and written from material based on John Ridley’s earlier animated series, and it leans into that satirical roots-and-gadgets formula with a lot of style. It clearly wants to be playful, but it also wants to say something about race, image, and the way Black identity gets packaged or watered down in pop culture.

That said, the movie is not exactly a model of precision. Some of the jokes are sharp and immediate, while others feel like they are still revving the engine long after the punchline should have arrived. The plot is basically an excuse to move from one set piece to another, and the film knows it, which helps, but it also means the whole thing can feel more like a high-speed sketch comedy than a fully shaped story. If you go in expecting airtight narrative logic, you will probably be annoyed; if you go in wanting a fast, funky send-up, you will have a much better time.

The supporting cast gives the movie a lot of its flavor. Dave Chappelle, Aunjanue Ellis, Billy Dee Williams, Chris Kattan, Denise Richards, and Neil Patrick Harris all add to the film’s chaotic mix, and the casting itself becomes part of the joke. Billy Dee Williams especially feels perfectly placed in a movie that is constantly riffing on cool, style, and old-school charisma, while Denise Richards gets a knowingly exaggerated role that plays into the film’s cartoonish battle between seduction and resistance.

What helps Undercover Brother age a little better than some early-2000s comedies is that it is not just throwing random nonsense at the screen for cheap laughs. There is a genuine satirical target here, and even when the movie gets clumsy, it still feels like it has a point of view. The movie clearly aims to be both goofy and observant, and even when the balance is uneven, it is hard not to appreciate the effort.

The best thing about Undercover Brother is its attitude. It moves like a movie that wants to be loud, stylish, and a little bit too much, and that confidence gives it a strange charm. The humor is often broad, sometimes cartoonish, and occasionally uneven, but the film’s willingness to fully commit to its bit makes it easy to forgive a lot. Even when the satire is more enthusiastic than elegant, the movie keeps its foot on the gas, and that momentum is a big part of its appeal.

Its biggest weakness is also the thing that makes it memorable: the movie can feel overstuffed with ideas, references, and gags, some of which work better than others. A few jokes feel a little dated now, and the film’s style of satire is not always as clean or as clever as it seems to think it is. Still, the movie has enough bite, personality, and goofy confidence that those rough edges become part of its charm instead of sinking it. That is the hallmark of a true guilty pleasure: you can see the flaws clearly, but you keep smiling anyway.

So Undercover Brother is not a perfect comedy, and it is not trying to be one. It is loud, silly, politically aware in a very pop-movie way, and shamelessly committed to its own funk. If you want polish, you will find plenty to criticize; if you want a movie with attitude, quotable energy, and the kind of swagger that makes its imperfections oddly lovable, this one delivers. It is a flawed satire, sure, but it is also a genuinely fun one, and that is why it still plays like a guilty pleasure worth revisiting.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

#SundayShorts with THE FRIGHTENERS (1996)!

Posted on June 8, 2025 by Bradley Crain

In the 1980’s I was a huge fan of Michael J. Fox. Alex P. Keaton was my hero, and BACK TO THE FUTURE and TEEN WOLF are two of my favorite 80’s movies. In the early 2000’s I became a huge fan of Director Peter Jackson due to his LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy. Made in 1996, THE FRIGHTENERS is the only Peter Jackson film I had seen prior to the LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy. I saw THE FRIGHTENERS at the movie theater in 1996, and I loved it. It was different than I was expecting going in, but it has one hell of cast. I had not seen any of Jeffrey Combs’ work prior to this movie, and he totally cracked me up. Throw in a ghostly Chi McBride whose character even references Charles Bronson* at one point, and I’m hooked. Peter Jackson directing Michael J. Fox. Now that’s a match made in heaven!

*BONUS – Chi McBride as Cyrus :

“All right, man, this is it. We gotta be hard. No mercy. We’re going in like professionals, like Charles Bronson. We don’t stop till the screaming starts, you dig?”

A Movie A Day #265: Hoodlum (1997, directed by Bill Duke)

Posted on September 30, 2017 by Jedadiah Leland

1930s. New York City. For years, Stephanie St. Clair (Cicely Tyson) has been the benevolent queen of the Harlem underworld, running a successful numbers game and protecting her community from outsiders. However, psychotic crime boss Dutch Schultz (Tim Roth) is determined to move into Harlem and take over the rackets for himself. With the weary support of Lucky Luciano (Andy Garcia), Schultz thinks that he is unstoppable but he did not count on the intervention of Bumpy Johnson (Laurence Fishburne). Just paroled from Sing Sing, Bumpy is determined to do whatever has to be done to keep Schultz out of Harlem.

When I reviewed The Cotton Club yesterday, I knew that I would have to do Hoodlum today. Hoodlum and The Cotton Club are based on the same historic events and both of them feature Laurence Fishburne in the role of Bumpy Johnson. Of the two, Hoodlum is the more straightforward film, without any of the operatic flourishes that Coppola brought to The Cotton Club. Fisburne is surprisingly dull as Bumpy Johnson but Tim Roth goes all in as Dutch Schultz and Andy Garcia is memorably oily as the Machiavellian Luciano. Hoodlum is about forty minutes too long but the gangster action scenes are staged well. Bumpy Johnson lived a fascinating life and it is unfortunate that no film has yet to really do him justice, though Clarence Williams III came close with his brief cameo in American Gangster. (Interestingly enough, Williams is also in Hoodlum, playing one of Shultz’s lieutenants.)

One final note: Hoodlum features William Atherton in the role of District Attorney Thomas E. Dewey. Atherton plays Dewey as being a corrupt and sleazy politician on Luciano’s payroll. In real life, Dewey was known for being so honest that Dutch Schultz actually put a contract out on his life after he discovered that Dewey could not be bribed. I am not sure why Hoodlum decided to slander the subject of one of America’s most famous headlines but it seems unnecessary.