Feckless

Surprisingly, it didn't take much to persuade my movie posse to catch the latest Tom Cruise vehicle, Mission Impossible 3 today - especially since it turned out that Preity Posh is a true-blue Katie Holmes wannabe. However, true to the ads, the little Napoleon has practically taken over the entire franchise, turning the other team members into merely bit-part supporting players for his lead - and practically making the entire IMF merely ornamental to his character's mission. This certainly isn't the teamwork of the Mission Impossible teams of yore since it's pretty obvious who's running the show.


Big Big Explosions!
Let's face it, Tom Cruise certainly isn't going to win awards for drama anytime soon but his mask-like face seems to suit him in this movie as the enigmatic Ethan Hunt - apart from the nearly torturous scenes as he tries his best to convey his feelings to his amore, only to end up looking quite pitifully constipated instead. Still there's action aplenty over here - and if you like trailers and helicopters exploding with little victimized pedestrians being scattered like mindless ants, you'd love this.

Unsurprisingly Big Bicep Barry refused to join the posse in this impossible mission which left Handsome Hui, Shameless Shalom and the ever-enthusiastic Preity Posh to round up the team. Suggested to Big Bicep Barry that he might enjoy watching Tom Cruise flash his trademark million dollar grin before he blasts his way through an impossible array of bullets that miss him only by a hair's breadth but Barry declined, citing work commitments, rising fuel costs and a surprising yen for non-violence. Certainly explains why we haven't seen any action films together.

Admittedly kinda odd for any friend of mine since I'm quite well known in these parts for my bizarre ( near homicidal and possibly psychotic ) fantasies of viciously throttling anyone who gets in my way - and wishing ill karma on those who are too far away for my eager hands. Every once my dark side rears up again and I find myself dreaming up the most deliciously wicked schemes. Which might explain how I always end up rooting for the villains.

A few hot men abound, littering the screen, but none last long enough on the screen to outshine Tom of course. You'll have to watch to find out who exactly I rooted for but it's certainly not the prissy Capote whining over his rabbit's foot ( the impossibly evil Phillip Seymour Hoffman ). Please, I have good taste in men. Still, I should have known better than to trust the sleek, sexy types in suits. Sigh. Somehow the pretty ones always betray you in the end.

Then again, I wouldn't have shot him. I'd have tortured him slowly - perhaps played with him a little before the end. Revenge always tastes better when it's dragged on a little, don't you think?