Evil wrapped in Miami Vice.
I HAD THE misfortune of seeing the new Miami Vice movie Thursday night, but the experience wasn’t all wasted, I stumbled upon the newest stealth rights removal reeducation campaign from the people that brought you DRM. Yes, the MPAA, RIAA or BSA, I am not sure which are behind this new tact, stealth infection of modern culture.
First the movie. It was far from good, but at no time did I actively contemplate biting my tongue off and using suicide as an escape. It was a free, and almost worth the price. If you think back, most movies have a few memorable scenes, humorous, effects-ridden or just interesting. Miami Vice did not. In fact, it was focused grouped to death, non-offensive in any way, but also studiously avoided doing anything interesting.
To use the Disco Steve method of rating movies, a scale from 1 to infinity of how many miles he would walk to avoid the movie, I would give this an 8. It was a B grade drug movie with only the most tenuous ties to the original TV show. Colin Farrell was about as suave and cool as the guy running around a NASCAR infield, drunk out of his mind, rebel flag in hand, skid-marked underwear showing.
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