Despite ‘Swordfish’s
opening call to arms, in which it attacks Hollywood for producing vacuous
rubbish, the film really has nothing to say: it follows standard action
formulae; its terrorist and conspiracy theories are worth only the space on the
back of a matchbox. What is presented instead is a stream of action set-pieces:
the opening shocker robbery; the mid-way car chase; the flying bus routine. That’s
the undemanding thrill quote fulfilled, then. All these are executed with trendiness
and slickness and incredible mass-destruction and grand unseen body-counts, and
they create the necessary diversion from the very average plot. The film’s
post-modern, self-reflexive quoting of films really provides little more than
the idea that our bad guy has got all his terrorist set-pieces from other,
better movies. But in the argument about Hollywood endings, ‘Swordfish’ concludes that an action audience
actually really wants a mass murderer to escape. If they’re John Travolta, that
is.
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