3000 Miles to Graceland
Had "3000 Miles to Graceland" been made twenty years ago, it might have seemed slightly original. Today, it's just an exercise in beating a dead Elvis.
Combine "Honeymoon in Vegas" and "Reservoir Dogs" and you get this film, which is the umpteenth movie to churn out an identical mix of violence and music and expect every idiot with a gun fetish to go see it.
The plot revolves around two former cellmates: Murphy (Kevin Costner) and Michael (Kurt Russell). They go to Vegas dressed as Elvises and rob the Riviera casino, along with partners Gus (David Arquette), Franklin (Bokeem Woodbine) and Hanson (Christian Slater). Though it is a testament to any filmmaker's sense of righteousness that both Arquette and Slater are killed off early, neither is killed off early enough to satisfy my sense of moral justice. Five minutes of David Arquette and I'm ready to ram my eye socket into the corner of the seat in front of me. That he's in any movie at all is an affront to humanity. Has anybody in Hollywood figured out that this guy is probably the worst actor in the history of cinema? He's not even a real actor -- he's more like a hyperactive child off his meds who's turned loose in front of the camera for America's ostensible amusement.
There isn't a likable character in the entire movie. The difference between Murphy and Michael is a matter of criminal degree. Murphy is willing to kill everyone in sight during the course of a crime while Michael is willing to commit the crime but not kill everyone in sight. Naturally, Michael's interest in criminal enterprise is compromised by a cute chick, Cybil (Courteney Cox), and her young son, Jesse (David Kaye). Would you believe that Michael and Jesse form a bond? Did I not see that very thing in "A Perfect World" already? How naive and inexperienced do you have to be to not know that's a cliché? Perhaps somebody needs to ask director Demian Lichtenstein.
Had "3000 Miles to Graceland" been made twenty years ago, it might have seemed slightly original. Today, it's just an exercise in beating a dead Elvis. It's bad enough we have to listen to catchy songs and watch cop after cop being shot in slow motion, but the director can't even be bothered to take this coloosal dump of a film into some kind of original package. This is basically a filmmaking 101 project with a thirty-million dollar budget.
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