Terminal (2018) Cinema




Tagline: “Revenge Never Looked So Good” Style Style Style Style Style, limited budget, substance.

Premise: The IMDb premise is disconcertingly wanky. Married with the above tagline, I was worried prior to seeing Terminal, which is essentially a hitman caper with twists, turns and a style not everyone will like. Oh and Simon Pegg is in it.

Delivery: Terminal is one of those plucky little films that pops up every few years fronted by a first time director, with obvious connections (but to be fair, connections are there to be used) and a unique aesthetic. In short, it has style and delivery like Lock, Stock met Bioshock. It also has half of the cast of Lock, Stock, though don't worry Sting ain't in it. I don't think. If he is, I was watching him, unaware. Terminal is stylised, cartoony and as London as its actors can portray, only some of whom are from the grumpiest city outside New York, and unsurprisingly they do the best ones (Fletcher, Moran).

Simon Pegg, though, where the fuck is he from? It's admirable to see him in a role not comedic, and he does well dramatically, but he's bland even in his comedy. I am of the fully unsubstantiated belief that he tries to counteract blandness by being an aloof, pretentious prick in real life. He did, though, write one of the greatest defences of the shambling zombie ever. Margot Robbie is the glamour capture, and all I can say is I hope she never has to play a Londoner again. In fact, I'll go as far as to say she's quite annoying in Terminal; although admittedly A list. Mike Myers has a terrific cameo, too.

As Terminal continued, I was left thinking director Vaughan Stein is either such a fucking lovely bloke all the actors in the many blockbusters he's worked on wanted to help him out, or a brilliant salesman, or both. Some of Terminal is poorly put together, but just little, tiny early career mistakes. Forgiveable oversights and slips which sadly build up as it goes on. Despite the vibrant, creative presentation, there's a predictable dullness to everything else. I hoped Terminal could be saved with creative gore or action. It is not; even the gunshots are drab. Sadly, as my interest waned, Terminal waved at me ever more desperately as I ignored it, like a drowning kid I didn't like.

Bedsit it? In its defence, without the style I would have turned it off, but I still stopped paying attention. Just ask that drowning kid. Who was by the way, fictional. But is also dead, alive and neither. Like Schroedinger's cat. The little cunt. Just before he slipped under, he called his parent's name. I can't remember it, but complain about this skit, and it'll be you. Like little water lungs, Terminal's ending dragged on too long. 5/10 and will no doubt depreciate.

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