A Constant Visual Feast

I’m my own meme. Every time I watch and review a new Mel Gibson movie, I tell myself, “Okay, that’s the last one.” It’s less a matter of quality and more that Gibson is a horrific human being, and I am torn over giving his work oxygen even when it’s perfectly serviceable and unoffensive on its own merits. But every time, I wind up going back on the vow, because I’m bad at keeping my own promises to myself*.

But in this case, I’m innocent! I didn’t know Gibson directed Flight Risk until after I’d been given the review assignment! I promise! I saw Dockery and Grace, and though, “Well, that’s enough to offset Mark Wahlberg,” and left it at that. I didn’t make the director connection ’til long after that**. Mea culpa. The movie’s only so-so, anyways, so think of this as my service to you: now you don’t have to give money to either Gibson or Wahlberg.

You do, however, need to read my review of the film for The A.V. Club, my first piece for the site in years.

*And to pretty much everyone else.
**The folks I sat with at the screening had similarly unflattering thoughts about Gibson; they also helped me narrate the first five minutes of the movie, which we couldn’t see at first because the projector wasn’t working. Sound? Fine. Image? Blank. Frankly, that was the best part of the film, though Grace comes a close second.