In 2012’s Deadfall, a pair of siblings (Eric Bana and Olivia Wilde) are on the run after shooting a cop, an ex-con (Charlie Hunnam) heads home to his parents (Sissy Spacek and Kris Kristofferson), and a sheriff’s deputy (Kate Mara) struggles to be taken seriously in law enforcement. And acting.


Fargo fuck yourself.

These numerous plot threads never really gel together, though they eventually meet in the movie’s climax; the most psychotically intense Thanksgiving dinner since The One Where Ross Got High. But the film, like Rachel’s trifle, is badly put together. It’s a disappointingly derivative B movie; the snowy sleuthing and burgeoning bloodshed invoke Fargo, but this is more Jonas brothers than Coen brothers.

Channing Hunnam.

Channing Hunnam.

Everything about it screams “second-rate”, from the forgettable title to the low-rent cast; this is one of those films, like The Guest, where the actors all look like better actors who wouldn’t be seen dead in Deadfall. There’s Charlie Hunnam, for when you can’t afford Channing Tatum; Eric Banana, for when you can’t afford Liam Neeson, or even Clive Owen; and Kate Mara, for when you can’t afford Rooney Mara.

Charlie Tatum.

Charlie Tatum.

With originality and characterisation both woefully thin on the snow-covered ground, Deadfall is a stilted and styleless thriller. There’s about as much chance of you remembering this movie as you are its title. They should have called it 23 Ski-Doo. Now that’s an expression.

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