Review: Patriot Games (dir. by Phillip Noyce)


“You don’t know what it’s like to have your life destroyed by one stupid mistake!” — Sean Miller

Patriot Games hits the ground running by thrusting Jack Ryan and his family into the heart of a terrorist ambush on a London street, targeting a key British official tied to the royal family. Harrison Ford plays Ryan as a sharp-minded history professor and former CIA analyst on a simple vacation with his wife Cathy and daughter Sally, but his old Marine training surges up—he charges in, kills two attackers including one terrorist’s brother, and gets winged by a bullet himself. Right away, this setup grabs attention by showing how a random act of guts can boomerang into endless trouble, forcing a guy who craves quiet lectures to dodge bullets and betrayal across oceans, and it plants seeds about whether playing hero is worth the fallout on everyone you love.

Back in Maryland at the Naval Academy, Ryan tries piecing together normalcy, grading papers and dodging CIA calls, but Sean Miller—the captured terrorist whose sibling Ryan killed—gets sprung in a brutal prison convoy hit that leaves cops dead in the dirt. Miller, now laser-focused on payback, reroutes his rogue Ulster splinter group’s rage straight at Ryan’s home front, culminating in a savage freeway pileup where goons ram Cathy’s car off the road, injuring her and Sally badly. Ford nails the shift from composed academic to seething protector, his clenched jaw and urgent phone calls conveying a dad pushed to the brink, while these family-targeted strikes crank the paranoia, transforming everyday drives and school runs into potential kill zones that linger long after the crashes fade.

Sean Bean invests Miller with a coiled, wordless intensity—scarred features and piercing glares that scream obsession without needing speeches, flipping Ryan’s principled stand into the villain’s fuel for a mirror-image crusade. This fictional IRA offshoot rolls with pro-level gear for hits from UK alleys to U.S. suburbs, dodging authorities with insider tips, but their flat-out villainy skips any cracks in loyalty or ideology, turning them into efficient machines rather than messy humans with grudges worth unpacking. Anne Archer holds Cathy together through hospital beds and hushed fears, emerging tougher, as James Earl Jones’ Admiral Greer supplies the gruff guidance that tugs Ryan toward Langley, balancing the intimate home front with globe-spanning spycraft that feels like a real squeeze on one man’s bandwidth.

The camera shifts smoothly from rain-slicked London corners to bright Maryland bays, capturing open spaces that make characters look small and exposed against the sprawl. Gunshots snap clean and engines growl low during pursuits, pulling you deeper into the fray without drowning out the quieter beats. Horner’s soundtrack builds with brooding pipes and driving rhythms that hit hard in the final bay showdown, boats tearing through darkness with bursts of flame from hands-on stunts that pack a punch even now. Action ramps up step by step from early scraps to that watery chaos, mixing smarts with muscle, even if plot points line up a bit too neatly at times.

CIA war rooms buzz with satellite feeds sharpening grainy Libyan camp footage into proof of terror training, a tech showcase that echoes Clancy’s gearhead love and ramps brainpower against brute force without flashy overkill. Ryan hashes out returns to duty with British contacts, including a Sinn Féin type disavowing the extremists, sketching post-Cold War shifts where lone wolves replace nation-states in the threat lineup. Book-to-screen changes crank Ryan’s field time over desk strategy, letting Ford flex rugged moves that thrill audiences but sand off novel layers of naval tactics and alliance chess for punchier pacing.

Ford and Archer capture the raw friction in Ryan’s marriage through tense, whispered spats about diving back into danger, their easy chemistry making the pushback feel lived-in and real rather than scripted melodrama. Miller’s storyline hurtles toward a frantic leap onto Ryan’s rocking boat, boiling his grudge down to savage, no-holds-barred combat amid crashing waves. On-screen locations—from echoing Naval Academy corridors to churning bay waters—breathe life into the settings, casting national pride as a bruising, up-close shield instead of hollow cheers. Subtle audio touches, like distant creaks in the dim Ryan house, crank up the exposed feeling, linking slick production values to gut-punch emotions without piling on the noise.

Those procedural deep dives—poring over red-haired accomplice sketches or grilling shaky informants—add authentic wonkery, like Ryan spotting tells in grainy photos that crack the case wide, but they drag amid family rehab montages where Sally’s recovery mirrors the slow-burn hunt. The baddies’ cartoonish zeal glosses Northern Ireland’s brutal splits, opting for clear-cut evil over thorny politics that could’ve mirrored real headlines from the era, a choice that streamlines tension yet dates the take harshly next to modern nuance. Endgame flips the house siege into a decoy boat trap, Ryan baiting Miller solo on fiery Chesapeake swells, evolving his street-brawl start into tactical payback, though the tidy win lacks the submarine slyness of earlier Ryan yarns.

This swap prioritizes visceral family shields over shadowy sub hunts, hooking casual viewers while purists miss the book’s flowchart plotting, yet it spotlights Ford’s prime reluctant-warrior groove amid practical blasts that crush today’s green-screen slop. Pacing ebbs in alliance huddles, but peaks like the SAS desert wipeout—watched live via infrared ghosts—deliver clinical thrills tying brains to bangs seamlessly.

Taken together, the taut opener, vengeful pursuits, tech-savvy thrills, emotional anchors, dated politics, and solid craftsmanship add up to a clear verdict: Patriot Games is a good film, a reliable ’90s thriller that delivers crowd-pleasing tension and strong leads without reinventing the wheel. It holds up for its practical stunts and intimate stakes, earning replays as Ford’s standout Ryan turn, even if flaws like simplification and lulls keep it from greatness. Worth the watch for anyone craving balanced action with heart.

The Films of 2025: Dead Before They Wake (dir by Andy Crane and Nathan Shepka)


It’s always interesting to compare American films about the UK with the films made by the people who actually live there.

American films about the UK are all about meeting quirky people, visiting clean and brightly-lit castles, maybe falling in love with a member of royalty, and perhaps discovering that your father is actually a member of Parliament played by Colin Firth.  If the action moves out of London or into Scotland or Wales, one cab be assured that it will involve an American having car trouble outside of a goat farm and then meeting an eccentric but handsome veterinarian.  If the film takes place in Scotland, the veterinarian and his randy father will wear a kilt.  The same thing will happen if the film is set in Wales because most Americans don’t know the difference between Scotland and Wales.

Films about the UK that are actually made in the UK tend to be visually moody and full of people dealing with economic uncertainty while living in depressingly tiny flats.  The cities are often portrayed as being covered in graffiti and no one, not even the film’s hero, is ever particularly happy.  British films about the UK are full of melancholy, rainy atmosphere and are often as violent as American films about the UK are quirky.

Dead Before They Wake takes place and was filmed in some of the darkest corners of Glasgow.  Nathan Shepka plays Alex, a nightclub bouncer who occasionally takes on other jobs.  He’s someone who knows how to handle himself in a fight and he often returns to his small and cramped home with split knuckles and a bruised face.  At the same time, he’s also a loving son whose deaf and very ill father is in a retirement community.  (His father encourages Alex to settle down and get married.)  Outside of his father, the only person with whom he has an regular contact is Gemma (Grace Cordell), a teacher who moonlights as a stripper to make extra money.  (That said, she still finds herself receiving an eviction notice.)  Alex pays Gemma to have sex with him but it’s obvious that there’s something more to their relationship than just a transaction.  They’re two people lost in an increasingly dark world.

Alex is approached by a shabby but well-intentioned attorney named Evan (Sylvester McCoy).  Evan hires Alex to track down a 14 year-old girl who Evan believes has been abducted by a sex trafficking ring.  The girl’s mother is a heroin addict.  The girl’s father is a government official.  Alex reluctantly takes the job and he soon manages to link the girl’s disappearance to a low-rent operation run by Amar (Manjot Sumal).  Amar is someone who is very protective of his own teenage daughter but who has no problem with the idea of abducting girls who are the same age or younger and forcing them to work in his makeshift brothel.  While Alex tries to find a way to infiltrate Amar’s operation, a mysterious man named Holden (Patrick Bergin) watches from the shadows.

Though the plot may remind some of Taken, Dead Before They Wake is far more thoughtful than any Liam Neeson’s admittedly entertaining thrillers.  Alex is not a former secret agent with a precise set of skills.  He’s just a tough guy who knows how to throw (and take) a punch and his investigation of Amar’s operation pushes him over the edge not because he’s trying to rescue a family member but because Alex is a human being who cannot believe or forgive the amount of depravity that he discovers during his investigation.  Throughout the film, there are hints that Amar’s operation is actually fairly small-scale when compared to some of the others.  A meeting with a representative of a national syndicate brings to mind the scandals of the late British DJ Jimmy Savile, who may not be well-known in the States but who, in the UK, became a symbol of depravity when it was revealed, after his death, that he was a prolific pedophile and sex abuser whose actions were largely ignored and sometimes even covered up by the British establishment.

Throughout Dead Before They Wake, there are scenes and details that establish that the film is more than just a revenge flick.  Gemma’s struggle to survive financially is handled with sensitivity and Grace Cordell gives an authentic performance in the role.  The scene where she tries to hide her growing fear upon learning that a picture of her dancing has appeared online and been seen by at least one of her students is wonderfully-acted.  The film contrasts Alex’s small flat with the large home that is owned by Amar and the film opens with a disturbing scene that shows just how exactly Amar kidnaps the girls who he then gets hooked on drugs and forces to work for him.  Dead Before They Wake is about much more than just action.

Dead Before They Wake does have its flaws.  Towards the end of the film, we’re expected to believe that one character overlooked something so obvious that it momentarily makes it difficult for us to suspend our disbelief.  But, for the most part, this is a disturbing and effective thriller, one that concludes on a proper note of Scottish melancholy.

Film Review: Free Fire (dir by Ben Wheatley)


Last night, I saw Free Fire, the latest film from the visionary British directing-and-screenwriting team of Ben Wheatley and Amy Jump.

Free Fire takes place in Boston in the 1970s.  We know it’s the 70s because of all the wide lapels, the flared jeans, and the impressive facial hair.  In short, everyone looks like an extra from Thank God, It’s Friday.  Note that I said Thank God, It’s Friday and not Saturday Night Fever.  None of the characters in Free Fire could pull off John Travolta’s white suit.  As much as they try to pretend otherwise, everyone in this film is low rent.  No one is as clever or street smart as they believe themselves to be.  Even more importantly, no one is as good a shot as they think.

The film takes place in a decrepit warehouse, the type of place that is strewn with rats and hypodermic needles.  Chris (Cillian Murphy), Frank (Michael Smiley), Steve-O (Sam Riley), and Bernie (Enzo Cilenti) are members of the Irish Republican Army and they’ve come to the U.S. to purchases weapons.  Chris and Frank are no-nonsense professionals.  Bernie is a well-meaning moron.  Steve-O is a drug addict who, the previous night, got beaten up after he smashed a bottle across the face of a 17 year-old girl.

Working as intermediaries are Justine (Brie Larson) and Ord (Armie Hammer).  Justine specializes in keeping jumpy people calm.  She and Chris flirt as they wait for the guns to arrive.  As for Ord — well, let’s just say that Ord was my favorite character in the film.  He’s always calm.  He looks really good in a suit.  And, whenever things get intense, he’s always quick to light up a joint and make a sarcastic comment.  This is probably the best performance of Armie Hammer’s career so far.  (Or, at the very least, it’s the best performance of his that I’ve seen.  I hear that he gives an excellent performance in the upcoming Call Me By Your Name.)  Certainly, this is the first film that I’ve seen, since The Social Network, in which Hammer seemed to be truly worthy of the hype that has surrounded his career.

Finally, there’s the gun dealers themselves.  There’s Martin (Babou Ceesay), who seems to be fairly low-key professional.  There’s Gordon (Noah Taylor), who is a henchman who looks disconcertingly similar to Chris.  And then there’s Vernon, who is from South Africa and who is constantly talking and smiling.  Not surprisingly, Vernon is played by Sharlto Copley.  Finally, Harry (Jack Reynor) is a driver who desperately wants to impress Ord.  Harry loves John Denver and he also loves his cousin.  In fact, he loves his cousin so much that, when he recognizes Steve-O as the junkie who smashed a bottle across her face, Harry pulls a gun and starts firing.

The rest of the film deals with the resulting gun fight, which is complicated with two mysterious snipers (Patrick Bergin and Mark Monero) suddenly open fire on both of the groups.  Who hired them and why?  That’s a mystery that could be solved if everyone stops shooting and yelling at each other.  Of course, that’s not going to happen because 1) no one is a good enough shot to actually get the upper hand and 2) almost everyone in the warehouse is an idiot.

At it’s best, Free Fire mercilessly parodies the excessive violence of modern crime cinema.  When it comes to crime films, most people just remember the shoot outs so Free Fire takes things to their logical extreme by just being a 90-minute gun fight.  At its weakest, Free Fire occasionally becomes exactly what it’s parodying.  The film’s structure — one night in one location — proves to be limiting.  At times, you find yourself really wishing for a flashback or at least a little exposition to explain who everyone is outside of that warehouse.  The cast is full of good actors and they all give good performances but the characters are, at best, thinly drawn.  At times, it was difficult to keep track who was who.  I especially found myself mixing up Michel Smiley and Sharlto Copely.  It was all the facial hair.

About 30 minutes into Free Fire, I was already composing a bad review in my head but, by the final shot (and yes, the double meaning is totally intentional), Free Fire had won me over.  It’s an experiment that doesn’t really work but it’s so relentless and dedicated to seeing its story to its conclusion that I couldn’t help but appreciate the film’s efforts.  When the guns finally did stop firing and the end credits started, I was shocked to discover that, without even realizing it, I actually had gotten just a little caught up in the film’s story.

Ben Wheatley and Amy Jump previously gave us one of the most memorable films of the decade (so far), A Field in England.  Free Fire might not quite work but I’ll always make the time to see the latest from Wheatley and Jump.

 

Halloween Film Review: Highway to Hell (1991, directed by Ate de Jong)


Highway to HellHighway to Hell, a low-budget take on the legend of Orpheus, opens with a young couple, Charlie (Chad Lowe) and Rachel (Kristy Swanson), driving to Las Vegas so they can elope.  When they stop to get gas, Sam (Richard Farnsworth) warns them not to drive on the back roads at night.  Charlie ignores him and the couple continues to drive through the desert until they are suddenly pulled over by Sgt. Bedlam (C.J. Graham), a scarred and mostly silent demon who is also known as the Hellcop.  The Hellcop drags Rachel out of the car and then vanishes with her.  Charlie returns to the gas station, where Sam tells him that Rachel has been kidnapped to Hell and will become Satan’s latest wife.  After Sam gives him a shotgun and a car, Charlie heads into Hell to rescue Rachel.

Charlie discovers that Hell is even stranger than he was expecting.  The highways are full of VW bugs and motorcycle gangs.  Charlie passes a road crew made up of Andy Warhol look-alikes.  (In a clever touch, they also work for the Good Intentions Company.)  When Charlie stop to pick up a hitchhiker (played by Lita Ford), he is suddenly attacked by a crazed ice cream man.  Occasionally, a friendly mechanic (Patrick Bergin) shows up and helps Charlie out.  The mechanic’s first name is Beezle.  Did you already guess that his last name is Bub?

There are parts of Highway To Hell that do not work.  Chad Lowe seems lost as Charlie and Highway To Hell’s abrupt ending feels like it belongs in a totally different film.  But Highway to Hell has enough odd characters and weird moments to make it worth watching.  For instance, I liked the scene where the Hellcop stops off at a roadside diner that is full of zombies.  Anne Meara plays the counterwoman who won’t stop talking long enough to take anyone’s order.  (It is Hell, after all.)  Jerry Stiller shows up as another cop and, finally, Ben Stiller plays a short order cook who won’t stop yelling.  Ben Stiller actually plays two roles in this movie.  Later, he shows up as Atillia the Hun, eating breakfast with Hitler (Gilbert Gottfried!) and Cleopatra (Amy Stiller).  Hitler tries to convince them that he is actually a teenager named Bob and that he was sent to Hell accidentally.

Despite the film’s title, AC/DC is nowhere to be heard on the Highway to Hell soundtrack, which is obviously a missed opportunity.  In fact, with the exception of Lita Ford’s cameo, there is no metal to be found in Hell which seems strange considering that this movie was made in 1991.  Music aside, Highway to Hell is an entertaining journey into the underworld.

highway-to-hell

What Lisa Marie Watched Last Night: Shark Week (dir. by Christopher Ray)


Last night, I watched a little film called Shark Week on the SyFy channel.

Frankie Cullen in Shark Week

Why Was I Watching It?

I was watching for a few reasons.  Number one, it was on the SyFy Network and that’s always a good sign.  Number two, it’s the latest film to be produced by the folks at the Asylum and that’s usually another good sign that the film, if nothing else, is going to be an interesting viewing experience.  Finally, some of the wittiest people on twitter were live tweeting this film and they were tolerant enough not to block me when I decided not to join in.

What’s It About?

It’s Saw Meets Jaws!

So, there’s this evil millionaire guy named Tiberon (played by Patrick Bergin) and he apparently owns a private island just south of the Florida keys and he’s a little bit upset because his son is dead and there’s 8 people that he holds responsible for the death.  Those 8 people all have individual names but, to be honest, they’re all pretty interchangeable and I found it easier just to refer to them all by nicknames like Blue Shirt, Tattoo Girl, Skinny Vin Diesel, Ugly Katy Perry, and my personal favorite character in the entire film, Psuedo Arquette (who was played by Frankie Cullen).

Tiberon and his assistant Elena (played by Yancy Butler) kidnap our 8 victims and dump them on an island where they’re forced to fight for their right to live while having to deal with several shark-related booby traps.  Why?  I assume because the evil guy is named Tiberon (and yes, that’s how he spells it, according to the imdb).  Just imagine if the guy was named Kittens.  It would have been a totally different movie. 

What Worked?

Speaking of the imdb, one reviewer over on that site has already declared that Shark Week is the worst film ever made.  To him, I say, “Calm down, your judgmental toadsucker.”  Shark Week is a low-budget film with a bunch of hammy acting and obviously cheap special effects.  It’s also a lot of fun.  Shark Week, like the best SyFy offerings, is a film that’s been specifically designed to inspire you to talk back to your TV.  Shark Week is not a film that you watch alone while jotting down critical observations in your Hello Kitty notebook.  Shark Week is a movie that you watch with a bunch of friends and you have a good time while doing so.  Shark Week doesn’t take itself seriously and neither should you.

Plus, I absolutely adored Frankie Cullen, who played a character named Frankie.  I, however, referred to him as Pseudo Arquette throughout the entire film because he really does look like a less goofy, more manly version of David Arquette.  I mentioned on twitter that I thought Pseudo Arquette was the cutest guy on the island.  “Sweetie, he’s a porn star,” someone tweeted back, referring to the fact that, outside of Shark Week, Cullen’s filmography is made up of movies like Celebrity Sex Tape, The Breastford Wives, The Devil Wears Nada, and Busty Coeds Vs. Lusty Cheerleaders.  Well, no matter.  I still loved my Psuedo Arquette.

Speaking of which, if I ever take up a second career as a super-powered crime fighter, I hope that the newspapers call me, “Busty CoEd.”  As in, “Thank you, Busty CoEd, you saved our town!  YAY!”

What Didn’t Work?

The title was a bit of a problem because the film appeared to take place over the course of just two or three days.  Certainly, they weren’t on that island for an entire week.  Add to that, we were using the #SharkWeek hashtag on twitter to talk about the film while we were watching it and, as a result, we had to deal with other people making  random comments like, “I can’t wait for #SharkWeek to start on the Discovery Channel!”  Seriously, it got a little annoying after a while.

“Oh my God!  Just Like Me!” Moments

Much like Tattoo Girl and Ugly Katy Perry, I’m scared of sharks, too.  That’s one of the many reasons why I always stay in the shallow end of the pool. 

Lessons Learned

Two lessons learned: First off, you can literally do anything as long as you’re in international waters.  Secondly, baby sharks are seriously cute.