“That’s why I fucked your bitch, you fat motherfucker.”
– Tupac Shakur, ‘Hit Em Up’
Okay, stupid, picture this. You’re at the movies, right? You’re with your significant other or alone or whatever. You sit down, and after twenty midnights of making jokes about casual dads and NYPD cops who kill homeless veterans to get their dicks hard, the lights go down. The completely fucking awesome DCP system starts up and like that, it’s the best time of the day: it’s trailer time.
So you’re sitting there, right? As you shovel whatever fucking shit into your mouth, the first preview starts off, and goes exactly like this…
This review is probably going to read differently than the other reviews I have written on this site. Usually I like explaining how the art director emphasized the film’s themes, how the lighting created by the director of photography showed the mental progressions of each character, how the writing failed to be lyrical enough to work or be so beautiful it cast a spell over my heart. I usually like mentioning the director’s contributions, how he emphasized certain scenes with some stylistic ‘pizazz,’ as I usually mention at least one specific shot that impressed me in my reviews. I enjoy commenting on a film’s cinematic value.
Well, White House Down does not really have any cinematic value. And you know what? I am fine with this.