In my years, which are vast, of movie viewing, it is rare when I visit a film lacking an ounce of legitimacy, worthiness, or a solitary redemptive attribute. “Kill”, not only falling into a cavity of pointlessness but into a cesspool of gratuitous, savage, gore: cinematography embracing stabbed, sliced throats (women are not excluded) gorging guts, splayed up close and personal (even saw an appendix or possible tubulation); viewers witness decapitations, slayings on a glorified scale, victims taking a thousand thrusts before relinquishing light. Director/writer Nikhil Nagesh Bhat inspired by “Alien” and “John Wick” takes violence beyond sensibilities; nonsensical, indistinguishable carnage gifted to the good, bad and ugly; bearded men, “Tweedledum & Tweedledee”, hero, villain, it made no difference. Why?
I have invested in Bollywood fare for over twenty years and wholly appreciate the brilliantly choreographed fight scenes, scored by 6-pack abs and devastatingly handsome, legendary stars (Aamir Khan, Shah Rukh Khan, Hrithik Roshan, Akshay Kumar, etc. etc.); “Kill’s” star Lakshya, with endowed balletic acuity, is bereft of charisma; he flies from one moving train car to another, crucifying villainous gangs one member at a time. Gravest sin, never caring if he lived or succumbed to the whim of a bloody scabbard.
In the end “it is a Tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
ZERO STARS
Peneflix