Welcome, fiery film enthusiasts, to another scorching critique from yours truly, Vincent Volcano. Today, I bring to you “Thelma,” a film that tries so hard to be both a heartwarming tale of elderly vengeance and a comedic action romp, it might just be the cinematic equivalent of a lukewarm hellfire. Let’s dive into this inferno of mediocrity, shall we?
First off, let’s talk about June Squibb, the nonagenarian dynamo, whose role as Thelma is as unexpected as a snowstorm in Hell. Ah, Squibb. At 93, she tackles her role with more vigor than most of the so-called “action stars” of today. But who are we kidding? Watching her navigate a scooter as if it’s a high-speed chase is more geriatric than geronimo. Forgive me if I don’t clutch my pitchfork in suspense.
And then there’s Richard Roundtree, the original Shaft, reduced to playing the sidekick on a souped-up Rascal scooter. Truly, a fall from grace that’s more tragic than anything Dante could envision. His chemistry with Squibb is endearing, like watching two embers slowly fizzle in the ashes—if you’re into that sort of thing.
The plot, oh the plot! What was marketed as a cross between “Mission: Impossible” and “The Straight Story” feels like it was written by a committee of celestial bureaucrats who’ve never actually seen an action movie. Thelma gets conned—gasp!—and embarks on a journey to reclaim her lost money. Cue a series of “exciting” stunts that include, but are not limited to: driving a scooter, tentatively wielding a firearm, and—heaven forbid—a dramatic bed roll! Tom Cruise must be quaking in his space boots.
Josh Margolin, the writer-director who based the story on his own grandmother (how quaint), tries to infuse the script with real emotion. I’ll give him that; it’s like watching someone try to light a wet match. The screenplay is tighter than a vice, with setups that actually pay off—a rarity in modern cinema. But alas, his efforts at subtlety are lost in the blaze of over-dramatized simplicity.
The supporting cast? Fred Hechinger as Thelma’s hapless grandson Danny is likable enough, though his performance is as memorable as… well, who is he again? Parker Posey and Clark Gregg’s roles are minor distractions—like sparks flying off a dying fire, they might catch your eye, but ultimately, they just fade away.
Visually, the film is a half-hearted attempt at style. Margolin’s direction is unfussy, like he’s too afraid to kindle any real excitement. Even the pyrotechnic moment—an homage to actors walking away from explosions—falls flat. Not looking back at an explosion? More like not looking back at their careers.
Despite my fiery critique, I must begrudgingly admit that “Thelma” has its charms. It’s a refreshing take on the genre, and Squibb’s performance might just snag her an Oscar nod. But let’s not kid ourselves—it’s the kind of film that will be remembered as fondly as a flickering candle in the eternal darkness.
In conclusion, while “Thelma” is a delightful romp that will please the masses, it’s hardly the blaze of glory one might hope for. I give it a smoldering 8.5 out of 10, mostly for Squibb’s undeniable star power. Flames fade, but classics burn forever—and this, my friends, is merely a spark.
So, tread carefully, cinephiles. This one’s more of a warming ember than a raging inferno. Until next time, keep the flames alive, and remember: “Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever!”
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Well, well, well, Vincent Volcano, the critic with a burning passion for mediocre movies! Your review of “Thelma” was as scorching as a lukewarm bonfire on a rainy day. June Squibb on a scooter, Richard Roundtree as a sidekick—quite the hot mess, don’t you think? Your fiery words might singe a few egos, but let’s face it, your critiques are like sparks in a damp forest—fleeting at best. Keep fanning those flames of disappointment, Vincent, but remember, even a flickering candle can light up a dark theater. Keep the sizzle alive, volcano boy! 🌋🔥