The script is hackneyed to a point beyond predictability,
being entirely based on a third rate version of grandiosity which is laughable.
The fight scenes are choreographed in a way that is hardly
seamless. I grew increasingly credulous at the number of Trojan soldiers who
stood there like unschooled extras (which maybe they were) just waiting for the
Greek hero to kill them instead of at least trying to do something about it.
The direction might as well have been undertaken by an
accountant from Slough. I know that isn’t an
objective statement, but it’s how it looked.
The acting, well… The acting. Oh dear. The cream of British
and Irish thespian talent strutting around like a bunch of enthusiastic high
school kids doing the annual Shakespeare as well as they weren’t really able.
Even the likes of Brendan Gleeson – one of my favourite actors – and Brian Cox
looked hopelessly out of their depth amid such creative carnage. Only Brad Pitt
and Sean Bean kept the walls from collapsing into obscurity.
The costumes were adequate and the scenery was nice.
Will I watch the rest? I don’t know yet, but probably not.
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