I’m with the critics that liked the The Counsellor. In fact, I sort of loved it. There’s a lot of expensive sunglasses, couture clothing, top marque cars and lavish, design laden locations on show and the characters that occupy them are it’s safe to say deluded, cretinous, insane and morally fucked. This has been enough to put people off, but McCarthy’s script gets away with.
McCarthy refuses to bow to Hollywood convention. There is no hope, when things go bad they go bad and nothing is going to change that. The characters know their world. They talk of what’s going to happen. And it happens. This might not be to everyone’s taste, but this in McCarthy’s hands and directed by Scott works wonders when, as a viewer, you catch on to how this is going to play out.
There’s no hope in this film but what it has in spades is sharp ass dialogue and scenes you won’t forget any time soon. In ten years, in twenty years even, people will still talk about Cameron and that Ferrari (catfish), Pitt and Fassbender’s to-and-fro convos, the separating of a motorcyclist’s head from his body and that motorised fucking neck-tie.
