Not content with simply taking the world of witchcraft by storm, Alex Russo (Selena Gomez) wrecks the silver screen as the most l33t35t of h4h0r5 in Getaway. She pulls off the most incredible feats of Kung Foo since Angelina Jolie in Hackers. No, she’s better than that. She makes Ferris Bueller in War Games look like Miss South Carolina:
Am I being hyperbolic? Absolutely not, and I resent the accusation. Not to spoil the movie, but still give you a taste: Russo manages to hack into a sophisticated wireless system on her iPad while racing through the streets running from the police. Granted it’s a Bulgarian computer system, but their pretty… uhm… good.
Suck on that Anonymous. (Please don’t hack me. I’m just joking around. kthnxbai)
Getaway isn’t all about computer skills, actually that’s just a very small plot device. Mostly it’s about car chases. Mostly. There’s no getaway without the driver, and no one drives like Gattaca (Ethan Hawke). He cuts the steering wheel. Jump cut. Clutch. Stomp on the gas. Jump cut. Shift. Jump cut. Wheels turning, screeching. Jump cut. Eyes in a rear view mirror.
The edge of my seat has a permanent imprint of my butt cheeks I was clinching so hard. Pure. Viewing. Satisfaction. With so much hot driving action by the end of the film I was nauseous. I couldn’t make it to the facilities so refilled my pop corn bucket. Let me tell you, extra butter makes for “greased owl shit” projectile vomit.
The real star of the film is the Shelby GT500 Super Snake. This is the car that most dudes would seriously consider giving a testicle to own. I know I would. Hell, I’m not using the damn thing, and they make some very convincing prosthetics these days. Sorry, Lance, I know your situation won’t allow for such a trade, but you’ve got enough money to buy one, bro. Don’t begrudge those of us who aren’t thusly compensated.
Alas, as brilliant a movie as Getaway is, and I believe it is a shoe-in for at least three or four Oscars, I think that Carroll Shelby is flipping a shit in his grave. Rightfully so, too. Here is an iconic piece of American Muscle, limited edition, NEVER to be blessed by the man again, treated like a bowling ball or a dollar store hooker—fingered and thrown in the gutter all night long. Do that to the kazoo mufflered Hondas with neon and billboard spoilers. Not real cars. Come on, Hollywood, think of all the small penised men out there who haven’t a chance at a hot piece of ass without overly compensating in the automotive department. Seriously! It’s a travesty.
For those of you whom are sarcasm-impaired, with the exception of the car, this movie is basically testicle shriveling garbage. If you’re a teen and haven’t a place to make out, this is your film. Check out the cool car and when you interest wanes get your tongue bang on. Just make sure it’s not with your Uncle Frank.