The irony of “Bullet Train” (2022) is that it takes about 20 minutes too long to get to its destination. Not that it’s a bad movie, if you can get beyond the implausibility of a multiple-assassin showdown on Japanese public transit. (And also close your eyes to the increasingly ridiculous violations of the laws of physics.) Hapless Brad Pitt’s Zen-fueled express ride through the valley of death has the same joie de vivre that makes Guy Ritchie’s and Quentin Tarantino’s films darkly absurd instead of darkly grotesque. Unfortunately, it gets to be too talky and twisted, requiring an overlong untangling.
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Inexplicably, uncomfortably, authentically funny. Going in, I thought “Family” (2019) carried the whiff of a middle schooler’s gym class farts. Then I realized Kate McKinnon only had a small role and this film was serving up some of the coldest deadpan since peak Steven Wright. Sometimes, awkward kids turn out great. Sometimes they become awkward aunts who suddenly have to care for awkward pre-teens. This movie talks about those times, and is able to do so hilariously and with just a smidgen of heart. The humor is so dark and edgy, though, I’m not surprised it wasn’t a commercial hit.
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