For much of its running time, Fury cruises on an amoral, you-are-there-and-caked-with-shit brutality in its washed-out, videogamey and jarring action scenes and even at times (most notably the centerpiece dinner sequence, cliched as it is) complicates the otherwise straightforward toxicity of its masculinist asshole characters. But in the end, male sentimentality and Wild Bunch-esque last-stand camaraderie win the day in disappointing fashion.
Standouts elements include Shia LaBeowulf and my theater's surround sound.
EDIT: Also it made me think of "Lemon…
A drifting intellectual late-bloomer's sexual awakening in the guise of an erotic thriller, unfairly if understandably maligned by viewers hoodwinked by advertising and unaccustomed to whodunits slathered in atmosphere and psychology at the expense of rollercoaster theatrics, put off by a reckless and glistening camera too busy charting the headspace of isolated and sexually paranoid Meg Ryan (fearless and vulnerable and as willing to shed her on-screen past as her character is to shed her depressed, idealistic innocence) faced with…
Could this have been a game-changing psychedelic, philosophical sci-fi epic of gargantuan proportions, somehow bankrolled by a Hollywood studio? I guess, but I sure as hell wouldn't have ponied up the money for a project like this, with only a weighty scrapbook and a surrealistic supergroup helmed by an excitable madman to recommend it.
The movie itself is badly-shot auteur-stroking of the highest order, as indulgent of its subject as Jodorowsky is of himself, but the art and imagery do…