He is accompanied by Piper (Amber Heard), an ex-waitress with a '69 Dodge Challenger, who gets some very major action setpieces of her very own and is never once turned into a weak girl that must be rescued they are pursued by a mysterious figure sent from Hell to retrieve Milton, calling himself the Accountant (William Fichtner).
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In point of fact, Cage plays John Milton, * a dead man escaped from the bounds of Hell to find religious charismatic Jonah King (Billy Burke), leader of the wackos who murdered Milton's daughter and kidnapped his infant granddaughter to sacrifice her to Satan on the night of the full moon. The film itself concerns Nicolas Cage being a hard-ass, driving muscle cars, and killing people by the handful.
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Lussier ought to have known better: his last film was the 2009 remake My Bloody Valentine, a film of considerable flaws that at least knew how to do tacky 3-D right. Especially double exposures, which are cheesy enough as it is but simply look ghastly when the two planes of the separate exposures are nowhere remotely near one another. It's something of a curiosity to see a movie in which 3-D can be at once so tacky and so restrained, especially a film that was "Shot in 3D!" as the ad campaign yells desperately, assuring an audience that has quickly learned to avoid post-production 3-D conversions at all costs (and why not, as painfully ugly as those films are, and as ludicrous an excuse as it is to chisel out another $4?) that this Drive Angry will look much nicer than all those other movies you're overpaying to see in unmotivated dimensionality.Īnd it does, at that, look better, insofar as the effect is smoother, although the film serves as a good argument for why things like lens flares and double exposures should never, ever be used in a 3-D movie. And both are further given an erotic gloss with 3-D that serves almost no discernible narrative purpose whatsoever, and isn't even particularly amusing in the tawdry fashion of a Piranha 3D, serving mainly to call still further attention to how languid is the violence, and how gleaming are the cars. But mostly violence and cars: the former presented by director Patrick Lussier with lingering, worshipful slow-motion, the latter in loving tracking shots that glide across the vehicles with the rapt attention but awed distance of a gentle, shy lover. It fetishises acts of brutal violence it fetishises gorgeously preserved early-70s muscle cars in an extremely distant third place, it manages, just barely, to fetishise naked women. Drive Angry is above all else a shockingly fetishistic motion picture.
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