Premium Rush

Last night we went to the cinema in the Cube, an enormous if not imaginatively designed mall in Jurong. There's an ice rink and an Imax, but we were in a tiny theatre with the loudest sound system known to man, watching Premium Rush.

It's a faintly ridiculous film about cycle couriers. Joseph Gordon Levitt looks strangely muscled up, possibly as a result of wrestling with the plot's many, nested flashbacks. There's what I thought was Ray Liotta doing a bad impression of Ray Liotta, but it's actually a cheaper, more rubbish version of Ray Liotta, there's a series of confusing headlong charges through bits of New York, and some unfeasible cleavage. (Not on Joseph Gordon Levitt, mind.)

None of that is a bad thing, but somehow it felt as though something was lacking. It was 90 minutes of tomfoolery, and then we had to get the train home. Really I should have written something more confusing, given the plot of Premium Rush, but that would mean spending more time thinking about it, which I don't think the scriptwriters did.