I don’t understand the poor reception of this film.
The first 15 minutes are near perfect, basically turning a lot of exposition and setup into a hugely entertaining series of tracking shots.
And if the last act attempts to explore a relationship that isn’t quite developed enough to really resonate, that’s ok, because by that point it’s turned into the loudest visual poetry in the world, wherein Nic Cage releases the blind, screaming emotion behind Santoro’s slick veneer.
It’s basically Rashoman for the modern theatre – no mind for the subtle, no time for the quiet – just POV shot after POV shot, burning through the lens of a crime that makes no sense, from a villain with no emotion, against a hero with no filter. It’s Lucifer rebelling.
And it’s Cage at his best.