If you extracted any five minutes from this movie and blanked out the co-stars faces, you wouldn't be able to tell it from any other non-Ritchie Jason Statham movie. I honestly have no idea what he's doing with his career.
In a world where a major star doesn't give a shit about his career, at least Ben Foster was pretty badass.
I Am Number Four
This is one of those movies where an extremely powerful and good-looking person wishes he could just be normal. All he wants to do is– like the rest of us– suffer the tedium and torture of high school, work his way through college, then suffer the 8 to 6 grind until sweet death finally takes mercy and grudgingly accepts his proffered soul like a brochure from a campus ministry. If I ever encounter a person who was involved in the creation of this film, I would hang them by the wrists from a heavy-bag mount and work their body until their internal organs leaked out their b-hole*.
In a world with no tension, 2 adults create it by not just saying what they keep intending to say for scene after scene after scene after scene. And Jennifer Aniston has either had plastic surgery or is being impersonated badly by someone wearing a Jigsaw mask painted flesh-tone.
SPOILER: ITSNOTAFRUITONTHEBOTTOMYOGURTCUP!!!! TALKABOUTACTIVECULTURESWHAAAAT?!?!?!?
A boy's youth in a circus comes to a sudden end when he gets sent to the psych ward after witnessing his father chop his mother's arms off. He escapes and makes a living standing behind his mother and being her arms during elaborate hand-dance performances (think an upscale Napoleon Dynamite), and in this role is forced to murder male bodybuilders with giant fake breasts.
People who know my movie reviews know that I often make them up. People who know my writing know that I couldn't have made this up.