There’s nothing quite like a sleek, fast-paced thriller to get your heart racing and leave you hanging on the edge of your seat, guessing till the last credits roll. A movie like that will astound and amaze, pulling rabbits out of the hat at every turn, magic in print and motion. Much like a ten in the bar that turns into a four in the harsh light of day, Paranoia practically phones in the fap on this one.
Paranoia follows tech-savvy slacker Adam Cassidy as he goes from zero-to-hero corporate cowboy overnight after being sucked into a furious clash of the techno titans. Caught up in events beyond his control, Adam races to navigate the increasingly turbulent waters of life, love and corporate espionage. Will Adam make it out alive? Will he win his lady love? Will Goldfinger ever stop making me giggle by name alone? The world may never know. Unless you watch the movie, then you’ll know at least two out of three.
I’ll just let the abs out of the six-pack already, shall I? The Hemsworth brothers are a goddamn national treasure, amirite ladies? Bless the magical vagina that created this Dynamic Duo, for it was a terrific twat indeed. The newer, hotter, much more acceptably shirtless “Matthew McConaughey”, Liam Hemsworth, spends a good chunk of the movie shirtless (and it’s a land of many splendors).
Paranoia also holds the rare and hard to earn “better than the book” badge I almost never hand out. The film succeeds in smoothing over rough edges and plot discrepancies from page to screen far more successfully than expected. There were moments of true character connection and relatable interactions within Paranoia, interspersed among spotty action and a lack of thrills, that is. Namely, Harrison Ford was at his Harrison Fordyist and that throaty growl did all sorts of delightful things to my lady bits.
At the core of a masterful thriller is the roller-coaster drop and rocket-ship rise, the pitch and yaw, of unexpected twists and turns that leave you gasping harder than after a marathon session of… Tae Bo. Thought I was going in a different direction with that, didn’t you? But I digress. Instead, this film spent most of its time on cumbersome voiceovers to drive the plot forward, instead of actual plot. Fulcrum events, character motivation, and key points seemed to happen in the time and place they were supposed to… BECAUSE they were supposed to. Even without having read the book, I’d have been more surprised by an actual “shocker” than Paranoia.
The pacing in Paranoia was one step above “flatline” and one below “tree sloth napping”. The most exciting thing that happened during this movie was that I found a half-eaten bag of M&Ms in my purse. Also, the guy three seats down from me was playing Angry Birds. There were elements of razzle in the slick visuals, with little to no dazzle anywhere else. Paranoia struggled to fight past inconsistent character arcs, a thin plotline, glacial pacing… and failed. Almost as badly as The Lohan fails at life.
And the final nail in the coffin of Paranoia’s Bukkake Bonanza of Bland, were the lackluster performances delivered by a cast that was either half-asleep or stoned. Not all the blame can be laid at the actor’s feet though, between the insipid plot and frail supporting dialogue, this anemic puppy was one sad song away from being adopted by Alanis Morissette. Despite being an aggressively underwhelming display of assturcation, Paranoia had it’s moments. It wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t great, it just… Was.
Paranoia wasn’t the freshest hooker on the block, but it’s worth an afternoon blowie if you’re in the mood.
Take a Drink: whenever you see/hear company names “Eikon” or “Wyatt”.
Take a Drink: anytime there’s a voiceover.
Do a Shot: each time Adam is shirtless. You’ll need a six-pack for that six-pack.
Take a Drink: whenever you hear a fucking depressing personal anecdote or tidbit about one of the characters.
Do a Shot: every time somebody does the 50-yard-dash.
Shotgun a Beer: when Adam clearly needs a naptime. You’ll know when.