Many of my reviews are facetious, but “Man On Fire” (2004) is too good to deserve that. It’s also too dark for some people to like or understand. I think that says more about those people than about the movie itself. It’s beautiful and ugly, jarring and tender, bloody and ethereal. Denzel Washington, an alcoholic former (CIA?) assassin, turns up in Mexico. His paramilitary buddy, Christopher Walken, helps him get a job as a little girl’s bodyguard, setting off a story of vengeance, amorality, justice and classic movie lines. Forgiveness? That’s God’s job. Denzel’s just there to arrange the meeting.
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What if you made a Brazilian tourism video that was also soft-core porn? (Redundant?) What if a Trump-like mogul used real estate deals to mask the fact he’s a closet perv? (Redundant?) What if you had Jacqueline Bisset and Carre Otis in tank tops? (Redundant?) Well, that’s pretty much all there is to “Wild Orchid” (1989), an early version of filmmaker Zalman King’s safe-for-soccer-moms style of screen screwing. This film is basically a practice run for every episode of “Red Shoe Diaries” and all the Skinemax ripoffs that followed during the 1990s (I mean, not that anybody was complaining). Redundant.