So, last night I, unfortunately, wasted two hours of my life on Michael Mann's so-called biopic of John Dillinger and his famous run of bank robberies in the 1930's. What's most disconcerting is that the film has two of the better actors of this generation in Depp and Bale and this movie still stinks like a roadside rest stop toilet. It's emotionally void, not just flat, but void and I couldn't give less of a shit about the characters, despite one of them being the real-life charismatic diamond Dillinger. Dillinger may have been a secret double agent of the Knights Templar or an alien and none of this fascinating 'other' side of him was even winked at. Let's just say that Depp is about as interesting as Dillinger as Stephen Dorff is as Homer Van Meter. That's saying something. And Bale could barely hold onto that whack ass Southern accent any better than a slimy catfish.
It's a good thing I also watched Robin Williams in World's Greatest Dad. Not since World According to Garp has Williams perfected the art of sympathetic asshole and sycophant so well. Kudos to Bobcat Goldthwait for writing and directing such a richly funny and dark tale.