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Denzel Washington puts power tools to bloody good use in this action thriller

To the employees of HomeMart, Robert McCall (Denzel Washington: Two Guns) is a teddy bear. He shows off dance moves on breaks, helps an overweight employee train to become a security guard and has a kind word for all. His coworkers speculate on Bob’s former occupation: teacher or Wall Street tycoon gone broke?
    A widower, he lives like a monk in a sterile apartment with books and few modern conveniences. When the solitude gets to him, he visits the local diner to sip tea and read in the neon glare. Here he befriends Teri, a young prostitute for the Russian mob (Chloë Grace Moretz: If I Stay). They talk books, dreams and fate, while Bob proposes Teri consider a less fraught career path.
    When Teri’s pimp beats her into the ICU, Bob returns to his past as a CIA wetworker. The mob, in turn, must figure out who is massacring foot soldiers before losing the entire East Coast operation.
    This blood-soaked vengeance yarn based on a popular 1980s’ television show has more in common with Death Wish than with primetime television. Director Antoine Fuqua (Olympus Has Fallen) takes his time unleashing Bob into stunning, tense and gory action sequences that have audiences cheering and gasping.
    Fuqua doesn’t waste time on script or subtle characterization. His love is action clichés. In his hands, you see how effective a rain-soaked, slow-motion showdown can be. He also mines all the violent potential of the HomeMart store. I’ll never look at yard clippers the same way again.
    Women do better than usual in this action film. Yes, Teri is brutalized. But she remains a daughter figure rather than becoming Bob’s girlfriend. For a feminist twist on the CIA handler, ­Melissa Leo is cast as a powerful ally.
    Washington’s range from charming to terrifying is a wonder. This is his movie. He fires a gun and wields a corkscrew believably, but it’s his acting that makes Bob compelling. When Bob lets loose his murderous talents, Washington transforms him up to his eyes, which go from lively to dead.
    The Equalizer is a classic action movie. Watching it, you’ll shovel popcorn into your mouth, cheer, scream and hope that if you’re ever in trouble, Denzel Washington has your back.

Great Action • R • 131 mins.

Song and dance liven up the first book of the Bible

Family legacies of love, anger and rebellion define Shakespeare, fairy tales, soap operas and the oldest story of them all, The Book of Genesis, recounted in 2nd Star Productions’ Children of Eden with exquisite beauty. This is a show the whole family will love by Stephen Schwartz, creator of Broadway legends Godspell, Pippin and Wicked. Heart breaking and humorous, it recounts Genesis in songs ranging from lyrical ballads to pulsing dances, Gospel and even soft shoe.
    In Eden, Father (Chris Overly) creates the heavens with a spectacle of lights in “Let There Be.” Next come Adam (E. Lee Nicol) and Eve (Caelyn Sommerville) in the doting “Father’s Day.” Eve’s “Spark of Creation” is glorious, as is the Father’s “Grateful Children.” Revel in “The Naming” of a delightful menagerie. Hear the sibilant snake (Robbie Dinsmore, Dakarai Brown, Tara Hebert, Erin Lorenz and Malarie Novotny) seduce Eve in five-part harmonies in “In Pursuit of Excellence.” Cry with Adam when he is torn from Father in “A World Without You,” Follow the couple’s discordant “Expulsion to the Wasteland,” where they express redemptive joy in parenting Cain (Creed Jackson) and Abel (Andrew Sharpe) in “Close to Home.”
    See history repeat itself when adult Cain (Austin Dare) blames his parents for their plight “Lost In the Wilderness” and disobeys his father, striking out for pagan lands. Mourn when Abel (Daniel Starnes) catches the blows intended for his father and Cain’s descendants are forever marked by his sin. By the Act I finale, your heart will break with Eve’s in her twilight song, “Children of Eden,” a glorious farewell to her countless descendants.
     Act II opens with a spectacular African-inspired song fused with Asian-inspired dance in “Generations of Adam.” The first act’s earth-toned rags are replaced by an array of colorful stripes and silks as we meet Noah (Nicol) and Father making preparations for the flood. Noah is to bring Mama Noah (Sommerville), his sons Ham (Dinsmore) and Shem (Brown), their wives Aphra (Erica Jureckson) and Aysha (Geneva Croteau), his youngest son, Japheth (Starnes) and his chosen bride, any girl who does not bear the mark of Cain.
    Of course, Japheth chooses the forbidden Yonah (Alexandra Baca), whom he persuades to stow away in their romantic duet “In Whatever Time We Have.”
    The carousel-inspired orchestral “Return of the Animals” enchants with its parade of 11 species, from anteaters with flicking tongues to towering giraffes and elephants. Then comes the starving time, Yonah’s discovery and Noah’s agonizing decision: “The Hardest Part of Love.” In Schwartz’ retelling, the severe God of the Old Testament softens as Noah releases all his children to different corners of the world, and Mama Noah leads the ensemble in the rousing Gospel anthem “Ain’t It Good?”
    Opening night of this charming spectacle would have been divine except for one colossal problem: Father, aka God Almighty, had laryngitis. As Overly’s impressive stage credits don’t include miracles, 2nd Star was short sighted to have no understudy for this pivotal role. Nicol and Sommerville, however, are vocally stunning, if a bit mismatched; she’s fresh as a spring rainbow and he’s ripe as Indian summer.
    The vocal ensemble and orchestra sound better than ever, with shining performances and a powerful chorus of storytellers led by soloists Alexandra Baca, Shannon Benil, Cheryl Campo, Kimberly Hopkins, Mary Wakefield and Chad Wheeler.
    The set is a simple stepped landscape backdrop, draped with flora, with ark and flood superimposed. Special effects including thunder and lightning are impressive. Costumes reflect civilization’s advances, though Adam’s AppWorld tattoo begs for justification.
     “The hardest part of love is letting go,” warns Schwartz, and this is true of his musical as well. I plan to return when God is feeling more like himself, and I suggest you do, too.


With Nathan Bowen, Wendell Holland, Charlize Lefler, Sophia Riazi-Sekowski, Samantha Roberts, Gene Valendo, Maia Vong, A.J. Williams and several adorable kids. Director and choreographer: Vincent Musgrave. Set designer: Jane B. Wingard. Costumes: Linda Swann, Carrie Dare and Beth Starnes. Musical director: Joe Biddle. Lights and sound: Garrett R. Hyde.
Playing thru Oct. 25: FSa 8pm; Su 3pm at Bowie Playhouse at White Marsh Park, Bowie; $22 w/discounts; rsvp: 410-757-5700; www.2ndstarproductions.com.

A season’s worth of sitcom plots in two hours

The patriarch of the Altman family, an atheist, had one deathbed request: that his family sit Shiva for him. His four surprised children pack up their families and their issues to spend the seven days mourning as one big dysfunctional family.
    Matriarch Hillary (Jane Fonda: The Newsroom), a therapist who mined her children’s adolescent transgressions for book material, is thrilled to have her family united. The kids are less happy.
    Eldest son Paul (Corey Stoll: The Strain) has taken over the family business and is struggling to conceive a child with his baby-crazed wife. Middle child Judd (Jason Bateman: Bad Words) has just lost his job and his cheating wife. Wendy (Tina Fey: Muppets Most Wanted) is trapped in an unhappy marriage and consumed with motherhood. Youngest Phillip (Adam Driver: Girls), is a screw-up who dates his therapist and shirks every responsibility.
    In close quarters, the Altmans feud, laugh and heal — not because of any earned character development but because that’s what the protagonists do in movies of this sort.
    “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” Tolstoy wrote, and it may have been true in the age of Anna Karenina. Now This Is Where I Leave You proves that unhappiness has become a cliché.
    All these Altmans are stereotypes. Paul believes that he’s inherited his father’s authority. Phillip is the perpetual baby. Wendy is the sardonic sister. Judd is the everyman bewildered by crazy relatives. If these characters seem familiar, it’s because you’ve seen them in Modern Family, Parenthood, August: Osage County, The Royal Tenenbaums and many more.
    The experience is much like watching a condensed sitcom with a season’s worth of plots crammed into a two-hour package. Director Shawn Levy (The Internship) is content to film the script this style. He also misuses the brilliantly talented women he’s cast, relegating them to wisecracking side characters who help the men resolve their issues.
    Performances give this dull slog its only fun.
    Bateman works overtime to make Judd, the protagonist, a relatable character. Fey, an experienced comedian, finds the funny beat in each line. Who wouldn’t want to watch a sitcom starring Jane Fonda? Always game for wry readings, she makes her matriarch funny. Driver is the breakout star of the film, using his manic energy to wring laughs out of ridiculous situations and lines.
    Because of them, This Is Where I Leave You is an entertaining diversion.

Good Comedy • R • 103 mins.

Blood and booze flow through Brooklyn

To most of the people who haunt the tattered stools of Cousin Marv’s Bar, Bob Saginowski (Tom Hardy: Locke) is just a shy face behind the taps. He quietly tends bar, slips into daily mass and suffers his cousin and business partner, Marv (James Gandolfini: Enough Said).
    A former loan shark, Marv is brooding about the Chechen mob that muscled into the neighborhood and his bar. Now his dive is a drop, one of dozens of Brooklyn bars where the Chechens launder dirty money.
    When masked men rob the bar and make off with the mob’s money, Bob and Marv have another problem.
    The Drop is a departure for writer Dennis Lehane (Boardwalk Empire), who adapted his short story for the screen. Lehane turns The Drop into a poignant tale of misspent lives.
    Director Michaël Roskam (Bullhead) forgoes fancy camera work for simple, understated shots. The sparse shooting style emphasizes the cold world Bob and Marv navigate. The result is an actor’s film, where performances are the focus.
    In his final film role, Gandolfini plays to the type that made him a star: a tough-talking New Yorker who has deep connections to the city’s criminal underbelly. His Marv is a sneering ball of insecurities, a deeply dissatisfied man whose bitterness manifests in violent deeds and angry words. It’s an engaging performance, but after eight years playing Tony Soprano, it’s a performance Gandolfini could have done in his sleep.
    Hardy is the star, offering an elegant, nuanced performance as quiet, unassuming Bob. Though his accent is more generically American than Brooklynesque, Hardy works around this impairment, imbuing Bob with depth. He’s a man who can both cuddle a puppy and get rid of a body part left on his doorstep.
    A crime thriller with a soft side, The Drop exemplifies the power of subtle filmmaking. You’ll find no big car chases nor dramatic shootouts, just a brilliantly acted film about mob bagmen struggling to get by.

Good Drama • R • 106 mins.

Two comedians prove dining out is an art

Comedians Steve Coogan (Philomena) and Rob Brydon (Underdogs) aren’t really friends, but they converse well together. Following up on a successful series of restaurant reviews (covered in The Trip), they translate the series to Italy.
    From the moment they squeeze into their rented Mini Cooper, competition kicks in. Through six sumptuous meals, the comedians war over who does the best impressions, has the least satisfying home life and the better career.
    On paper, it doesn’t sound like a riveting film, but director Michael Winterbottom (The Look of Love) proves that good dinner conversation is an art.
    Like the first Trip film, The Trip to Italy is actually a summation of a British television show, editing six episodes into a nearly two-hour film.
    Playing exaggerated versions of themselves, Coogan and Brydon are brilliant at playing up their worst traits for comedy. Brydon makes himself desperate for attention and deeply insecure about his regional fame compared to Coogan’s wider stardom. He can’t turn off. Even alone in his room or on the phone with his wife, he whirls through impressions. He is exhausting to watch, but there’s tragedy in a man so afraid of being himself.
    Coogan uses smugness as a shield against his insecurities. He presents himself as an international celebrity, adored in America, partly to twist the blade in his pal Brydon and partly to disguise the fact that he’s lonely and dissatisfied with his career. When Brydon mentions a career triumph, Coogan becomes so despondent he loses interest in the competition.
    In spite of the two actors’ sometimes prickly interactions, there’s magic whenever they converse. Seeking to top each other, they speed through a flurry of impressions and improvisations. It’s hilarious. The moments when Coogan and Brydon manage to crack each other up are best of all.
    The Trip to Italy isn’t a movie for the popcorn crowd. But if you’re in the market for a fascinating look into the mind of a comedian and some inspired cuisine, you’ll adore the second helping of this series.

Good Dramedy • NR • 108 mins.

There’s a window of time when things must happen. If we let that window close, it’s gone and we don’t get it back.

Fasten your seatbelts as we blast off for Colonial Players’ 66th season with Rocket Man, Steven Dietz’s 1998 serious comedy about the road not taken.
    Act I counts down like a comedy sketch with a disturbing undercurrent.    Act II is a space shuttle with frequent stops between grim reality and a fifth dimension of beautiful and bittersweet extremes where life runs backward and youth presages the end of possibilities.
    In this surreal postcard from another dimension, you’ll meet Donny (Ben Carr), a landscape architect in the midst of a midlife crisis; his ex-wife Rita (Laura E. Gayvert); their resentful teen Trisha (Paige Miller); Donny’s best friend Buck (Timothy Sayles), a widower with a Noah complex; and Donny’s unacknowledged soul-mate Louise (Shirley Panek), a former co-worker turned divinity student.
    Donny thinks that in another world it could have all turned out differently. To make the most of his remaining time, he has quit his job and jettisoned his worldly possessions to dedicate himself to studying the stars through his attic skylight. He is strangely calm for a man on the brink.
    Given a second chance at life, Rita thinks we’d all make the same mistakes in new and interesting ways. She rants about Donny’s self-centered forgetfulness, while Trisha rants about finding her possessions strewn across the lawn for strangers to take.
    Who is right, Donny or Rita?
    Does he travel to another world, another time or a dream? Does our personality destine us to repeat history?
    The playwright isn’t saying, but everyone has a theory, the cast included. That’s why all are so invested in their roles.
    Carr doesn’t so much act the character of Donny as inhabit him, his face a palette of moods and thoughts that transcend words.
    As Donny’s friend, Sayles is sweet comic relief with perfect timing and a quirky manner to foil the sad insanity that surrounds him. He is miscast only in that his full head of hair lends absurdity to his bald jokes.
    As the insomniac sage Louise, Panek appreciates her character’s inability to transcend the careful detachment she cultivates.
    As daughter Trisha, Miller melds maternalism with emotional distance.        As ex-wife Rita, Gayvert demonstrates an unexpected girlishness in her reunion with Donny, though before that change of personality in Act II, it’s hard to understand why Donny might miss her.
    In life “we demand the illusion of involvement,” Donny says, and that’s what the technical aspect of this show provides. With a set deliberately barren and depressing, designers achieve stunning moods with a soundtrack of space-inspired hits from Donny’s youth and a light grid that debuts with this show. When Donny blasts off into the heavens to the title tune, bathed in a visual wash of dancing galactic blue pinpoints, the gasping audience is also transported.
    In this trip to the road not taken, we are encouraged to “travel further, dig deeper, live more and sing life.” If you can handle ambiguity, you’ll love the play. If not, bring a philosophical friend to help resolve questions.


Director: Scott Nichols. Set designer: Edd Miller. Sound: Kaelynn Miller. Lights: Terry Averill. Costumes: Hannah Sturm. Stage manager: Herb Elkin. Music designer: Jim Reiter.

Playing thru Sept. 27: ThFSa 8pm; Su 2pm (plus 7:30 Sept. 14) at Colonial Players Theatre in the Round, East St., Annapolis; $20 w/discounts; rsvp: 410-268-7373; www.thecolonialplayers.org.

Neither scary nor inventive, this horror should have stayed buried

Deep below the streets of Paris is a city of bones. Most of the catacombs are well mapped out tourist spots, but a secret section of the tunnels obsesses alchemist professor Dr. Scarlett Marlowe (Perdita Weeks: The Invisible Woman). She believes these tombs house Nicolas Flamel’s famed philosopher’s stone, which holds the key to knowledge and immortality.
    Scarlett’s father spent his career searching for the stone before committing suicide when his theories were mocked. She has dedicated her life to proving his beliefs. To take her into the catacombs, she recruits language expert George (Ben Feldman: Mad Men), documentary filmmaker Benji (Edwin Hodge: The Purge: Anarchy) and three French spelunkers.
    In uncharted parts of the crypts, a cave-in forces the team into a cavern declared sinister by locals. As they crawl among the bones searching for a way out, Scarlett notices odd things. As team members die, she acknowledges that they may have descended into a realm of evil.
    Will they realize in time the Philosopher’s Stone is really at Hogwarts? Or are all destined to add new piles of bones to the crypts?
    Yet another mockumentary horror film, As Above, So Below deals with themes of hell, mysticism and guilt. Unfortunately, each is handled poorly. Director John Erick Dowdle (Devil) substitutes shaky cam action for tension. Whenever the team comes across a scare, he whips the camera back and forth so that we see blurred images. It’s an endurance challenge for viewers with weak stomachs.
    Dowdle squanders even the most inherently frightening part of his movie: the setting. Claustrophobic sequences are few; if Paris were built on such a spacious sewer system, the City of Love would be at the same elevation as Denver.
    The actors do what they can with weak material. As the fanatical leader, Weeks’ Scarlett is eerily calm in the face of disaster. She manipulates, cajoles and forces her group to bend to her will. Weeks also convincingly sells Scarlett’s haunted past and her determination to clear her father’s name.
    As a mildly claustrophobic nerd who has a crush on Scarlett, naturally charismatic Feldman has little to do.
    With no scares, poor cinematography and a weak script, the only thing frightening about this movie is paying to see it.

Poor Horror • R • 93 mins.

See this flick and you might wish you were dead

In the bowels of Basin City, there are no happy endings. So don’t look for any in these four stories of sex, death and violence.
    Barfly thug Marv (Mickey Rourke: Java Heat) hasn’t made a man bleed in days. It’s starting to get to him. As his impulse toward violence grows, he seeks an outlet to vent his rage.
    Gambler Johnny (Joseph Gordon-Levitt: Don Jon) is looking to make a score. Never having lost a game of chance, he buys into the richest card game in the city, playing police chiefs, senators and high rollers to take home millions.
    Private Eye Dwight (Josh Brolin: Guardians of the Galaxy) meets his long-lost love Ava (Eva Green: Penny Dreadful) at a bar. She promises love and fidelity if Dwight helps extract her from her marriage to the rich sadist for whom she left him.
    Stripper Nancy (Jessica Alba: The Spoils of Babylon) lost the love of her life because of the threats of a powerful senator (Powers Boothe: Nashville). Now an alcoholic with a tenuous grip on sanity, she vows revenge.
    Director Robert Rodriguez made the first Sin City film — adapted from Frank Miller’s popular graphic novels — in black and white so it looked ripped from the pages of a comic book. In this sequel, he seems to have forgotten what made the original a success. This sequel is so bad that it taints the memory of its predecessor.
    Despite graphic violence, near constant nudity and plenty of pulpy dramatic dialog, this movie is so dull that it could be used in a sleep study.
    The four story lines are smashed together rather than interwoven. The painterly quality so visually arresting in the first is replaced with shots of naked women framed as high art.
    Actors could save this one — were not most of them woefully inept or miscast. Jessica Alba continues to prove she’s one of the worst actresses working today. Gordon-Levitt’s slight frame is dwarfed in Miller’s world of hulking men.
    Only Rourke understands how to work with the pulpy dialog and plot. His Marv — who impressed in the first Sin City — is a sweet lunk who happens to be a dangerous psychotic. Rourke generates both sympathy and fear.
    With nothing but Mickey Rourke’s 20 minutes of screen time to recommend it, Sin City: A Dame to Kill For fails on three counts: film, action and cheap pornographic thrills.

Awful Action • R • 102 mins.

Theater al fresco at Reynolds Tavern, where the humor is bawdy, the medicine primitive and the fun timeless

     Annapolis Shakespeare Company keeps the comedy in the courtyard coming. After a successful run with Molière’s The Schemings of Scapin, now on tap outdoors at Reynolds Tavern is a lively and very funny Imaginary Invalid. Molière’s final play was written by the tuberculosis-wracked playwright/actor to star himself and reflect his disdain for the medical mores. He indeed played the lead to great acclaim before succumbing to his malady soon after the curtain went down on a show for King Louis XIV.
    Adapted by Tim Mooney and directed by Kristen Clippard, Annapolis Shakespeare Company’s Imaginary Invalid is three riveting acts of fast-paced fun, with a stellar cast reveling in every rhyming couplet. But don’t let the three acts worry you about a long night ahead; the 7:30pm start gets you out just a bit after 9pm.
    The imaginary invalid is Argan (Kim Curtis), a well-to-do hypochondriac who wants to marry his daughter Angelique (Ashlyn Thompson) off to a soon-to-be-doctor (Zachary Roberts), son of Diafoirus (John Stange), already a doctor, so one will always be around. Meanwhile, his second wife Beline (Amber Gibson) wants both her stepdaughters, Angelique and Louison (Roberts again), put into a nunnery so she can claim Argan’s riches when he dies. But Angelique is in love with the handsome, romantic and oh so dim Cleante (Keegan Cassady). Argan’s maidservant Toinette (Briana Manente) has no qualms about setting Argan straight on why a forced marriage is a bad idea, as does his brother Beralde (Stange again), who also is getting a little fed up with the whole ­hypochondria thing.
    Got all that? Thanks to a cast of actors who know how to deliver lines with their bodies as well as their voices, the action is easy to follow. Which brings up a personal nitpick: How many times have you gone to the theater and missed lines because the actors weren’t speaking up? Nine times out of 10 it’s not the volume that’s the problem, it’s the diction. Other local theaters would do well to emulate Annapolis Shakespeare Company’s focus on enunciation because nary a line was lost, even in this outside setting. Speak the speech, I pray thee.
    The other thing that often gets between the actor and the audience’s ability to follow what’s happening is the blocking — the placement and movement of the actors — a challenge especially in a round setting such as the Reynolds courtyard. Again, director Clippard’s focus on the details pays off. Despite the small space, the action does not feel limited or cramped, and no back is turned to any of us for more than a few seconds.
    In the less-is-more category, this is all done with a single chair and one chair-side table with a few apothecary bottles. That’s because the top-notch acting and efficient use of space eliminate the need for anything more than the very clever costumes. So, reserve a Tuesday evening and watch some very talented actors pull you away from Annapolis 2014 and into 1600s’ France, where the humor is bawdy, the medicine primitive and the fun timeless.


Costume coordinator: Maggie Cason. Stage manager: Sara K. Smith. Assistant stage management intern: Shannon McGovern.

Playing thru October 7 Tu at 7:30pm at Reynolds Tavern. 7 Church Circle, Annapolis. $20 w/advance discounts:
410-415-3513; www.annapolisshakespeare.org.

Grandpa, tell me about the good old days

    In the bygone era of 1980s’ movies, a hero’s worth was determined by the circumference of his biceps, the length of his cigars and the heft of his gun. It was a simple time of bloody shootouts, car chases and cheesy lines.
    Three decades later, these pumped-up monosyllabic heroes are well past their prime but determined to relive their glory days in the Expendables series. Most of the stars are too old for this stuff, but even action heroes have house payments. So every few years Sylvester Stallone (Grudge Match) writes a new Expendables script and trots out his buddies for a quick paycheck and a trip down memory lane.
    In the third geri-action installment, we follow Barney Ross (Stallone) and his mercenary team, the Expendables, on a seemingly routine interruption of an arms deal. The mission goes spectacularly wrong when Barney catches the arms dealer in the crosshairs. The dealer is Expendables’ co-founder Conrad Stonebanks (Mel Gibson: Machete Kills), who Barney believed he’d killed decades ago.
    Stonebanks catches Barney and the rest of the Expendables off guard, wounding them and making off with the money. Obsessed with killing Stonebanks and terrified that his aging mercenaries will die on the mission, Barney fires his team to seek a new, younger crew.
    Young audiences may miss the appeal of seeing wrinkled men mutter lame jokes, hit on women 20 years younger and beat each other bloody. But for audiences who grew up watching Cobra, Commando and Masters of the Universe, there is a certain nostalgic fun to these mindless action throwbacks.
    Filled with hokey lines, a ridiculous plot and low-budget action sequences, The Expendables 3 rises with its cast. Or falls, as Stallone’s new team of young pretty boys are pretty dull.
    When the veterans get their chance, each delivers. Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger (Sabotage) are old hands at charming their way through terrible material. Dolph Lundgren (SAF3) entertains by vacillating between imposing psychotic and goofy weirdo. Wesley Snipes (Gallowwalkers) proves that he still has a magnetic screen presence. Jason Statham (Homefront), who deserves so much better than this dreck, is the odd man out, too young to fit in with the old guard, too grizzled to join the boys.
    The only acting tragedy among the old guys is the villain. Gibson’s legal and PR troubles have made him an ideal bad guy for movies, but his wild-eyed performance shows that this once-great star has fallen.
    With a horrid plot, spotty acting and odd casting, The Expendables 3 is a bad movie. Yet I enjoyed it. Seeing these stars pick up their guns and get back to work is a little like touring Jurassic Park. There’s something magical about watching these dinosaurs in their natural element.


Fair Action • PG-13 • 126 mins.