The Chase is a 'huh? flick. 'Huh? flicks are a trend. They go beyond miscalculation of the public mood or mere mediocrity or notions of so-bad-it's-good into a grey dimension of their own. 'Huh? celluloid has no purpose in being, has nothing to say, shouldn't exist.
Think about it. What possible reason could there be for, say, Guilty as Sin, with Don Johnson carrying on like some mad queen and Rebecca De Mornay standing around looking understandably aghast? Or for (melo)dramas like Scorchers, the sexually warped of the Deep South revisited some 30 years after their shag-by date. Or listless horror slop like The Premonition, neither bad enough to be trashy fun nor bizarre enough to suggest a twisted imagination at work. Or for 'comedies like Police Academy: Mission to Moscow, about as funny as necrotising fasciitis, though not nearly as attractive.
Yet all of these have been at a cinema near you. It's a true post-modern phenomenon - something that's there simply because it's there - but it provokes an old-fashioned response: why oh why oh why. . .?
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