Rating: 3/10.
Every great director deserves a mulligan. And none more so than Clint No Name Eastwood, one of the last remnants of grizzled and purpose-driven masculinity in a world full of low-T soy boys and high-T girls. But I'm not a flag-waving dildo, and neither is Eastwood. Out of respect, I'll dismiss that "empty chair" class act as a senior moment. Unlike his new, somewhat accidental Trump-humping fanbase, Clint tells stories of MURIKAN GYROS with no severe political slant. Among his greatest achievements were the back-to-back WWII epics Flags of Our Fathers, and Letters to Iwo Jima, which showed the Japanese flip side. I think people unfairly demonize Eastwood as a fossil that should be buried. But look at any one of his films, and you'll see he favors people over politics. I can't say the same for a lot of mainstream bullshit today (ahem, Disney/Marvel). No matter how large or small the deed, even if it only lasted three minutes total, Eastwood is determined to adapt it. He made a plane crash into a multilayered mini-epic with Sully. That was a well-written docudrama. By contrast, the 15:17 to Paris is a well-meaning trainwreck.
It begins innocently enough, following the eerily lookalike child versions of the MURIKAN GYROS! It has no connection to the rest of the movie, but it's the section that feels most like an Eastwood film...if it was written by a third-grader. The three friends were apparently frowned upon by a Christian school system, for wanting to have fun like normal kids I guess.
Then we're treated to some weak-ass army recruitment ad, as Spencer, the Curly of the Three Stooges, blends a serviceman a smoothie at Jamba Juice. It may be the most awkward onscreen transaction since The Room. There's a Hemsworth-looking dude named Alek, who definitely has the best acting career ahead of him. He's stationed in Afghanistan, likening his job to a "mall cop". Definitely not the jingoistic, pro-war stance Eastwood is accused of taking. There's also a boring black friend, and a random Asian chick who pops in to take selfies.
The middle portion of this movie seriously had me wondering if this was an ad for a new iPhone or some shit. Eighty-some minutes of backpacking through Europe like a gay Samantha Brown up in this bitch. There are no discoveries to be had through the travels. The story has no dramatic arc whatsoever, save for some painfully cornball foreshadowing: "You ever feel like life is leading us to some greater purpose?" Blekk! The final showdown is appropriately intense, but by then I simply didn't care who lived or died. Also, if that terrorist wasn't such an amateur and actually loaded his weapon, that day would've been very different. And we wouldn't have had this movie. Jus'sayin.
"Mmm...that's good pizza." "Look at the baby Coke, Spencer." "Shut the heck up." If there's one thing I can give this movie, it's that it's endlessly quotable. Is this what the real heroes sound like? Or was it really this difficult for them to get into character to PLAY THEIR FUCKING SELVES? Maybe they were just happy to vacation with Clint and get paid for it. I don't blame the gyros. I blame the writers.