A teen girl waits inside a creepy, empty house with a knife. She knows the killer is outside and she knows he's coming to kill her next. Her friends are dead, her clothes have been ripped to shreds, she is covered in blood, and she is all alone in the deserted house. But she is ready. She waits, ready to avenge her friends and save her own life. She is the Final Girl.
I have so many thoughts on this film, and only maybe one of them is good. But I think we need to start off with this: The Lone Ranger is just a bad movie. It's 2.5 hours of a film with an identity crisis, not knowing if it's supposed to be funny, campy, dramatic, "authentic," or what. At points it was very hard to separate the stereotypical and hurtful from the bad script, bad editing, and bad character development of the movie itself.
The reviews of the recently released The Heat, the new film from Paul Feig (of Freaks and Geeks and Bridesmaids fame) about an arrogant New York FBI agent and a foul-mouthed Boston detective who are thrown together in pursuit of a shadowy drug kingpin, has pondered one question: Whither the female buddy comedy?
At one point in Disney's new The Lone Ranger, Tonto turns to his companion and describes a massacre against his people, "The rivers ran red with blood." Well, so will this review, because all I felt for a two hours and 29 minutes was anger.
Explosions, gripping fight scenes, sexist playboy arrogance, and close-ups of Robert Downey Jr.'s face overlaid with computer graphics—these were all things I expect when walking into an Iron Man movie. What I don't expect are convenient and overused Hollywood tropes about Muslim women.