The big twist of the film that comes out of nowhere almost made me burst into laughter. There is no build-up, no effort at developing flesh around the twist to make it believable when it comes.

I just wish that the film had been a lot more fun, and perhaps, less preachy. But that’s like wishing that a chocolate-dipped peanut butter cup-stuffed Oreo were less sweet. It is what it is, and you’ll love it if you have the taste for it.

Train to Busan brings absolutely nothing new to the zombie genre, but it shows that lack of novelty needn’t be a handicap at all. It has everything you’d expect in a zombie film: The close calls, the mass slaughters, the long chases. A lot of it is quite beautifully shot.

As is only expected of a film that deals with a disorder, a narrator explains at the end that autism—which is what Chris supposedly suffers from—affects a sizeable percentage of the population, and tries to encourage sensitivity towards the condition. But considering that Affleck’s character almost romanticises it as a superpower, the narrator may well have not bothered.

It isn’t that The Magnificent Seven is a bad film. It’s made quite competently, and with much deference to the original — or should I say, originals. But the Seven here aren’t just magnificent enough. Fuqua’s film is to the original what a Colt revolver is to the Gatling gun.

Thanks to Sully, I now know — as much as there is to be known safely at least — what it must be like to be part of a incapacitated plane. Isn’t that why we go to films, after all? So, we can live the compelling lives of others… at least briefly.

Much of what happens in Skiptrace appears manufactured; the dialogues are no exception.

You can survive it for a while, but you’ll never outlive it. Towards the end, the villain finally wakes up to the folly of picking The Mechanic as his adversary (remember The Dark Knight line?), but I wasn’t at all sure why Arthur needed to wait so long to rescue Gina. Then, I looked down and understood. The omniscient Arthur was just giving us time to finish the popcorn.

This lack of depth gets exposed calamitously during the latter half when the film’s veil of comedy drops; even Jonah Hill fails to make it all seem engaging. This likely explains the casting of Bradley Cooper, who, I’d guess, was paying off a debt. There can be no other reason for his deciding to play the role.

What Marvel achieved by painstakingly releasing film after film to establish its superheroes, DC tries to do with hyper-stylised minute-long intros for the dozen characters that populate—no, crowd—Suicide Squad.