Sometimes the best intentions go awry. For instance: I own a computer. Big fucking deal. I know. You own a computer. Your fucking Grandma owns a computer. That Fucktard standing in front of you in the supermarket owns a computer. We own them because they’re great. I can get work done, send DudeMomBro a belated birthday e-card, and even keep tabs on all the chicks I’ve banged. (Debbie, I see you dropped some pounds. I like it but don’t lose too much. My cock loves a little jiggle.)
Cause, like I said, best intentions and all that but, fuck it, it’s a porn box. It is used to bring me porn of any type at any time while I’m wearing anything. But, I mean, the DudeNerdBros that created the computer didn’t expect that to happen. Fuck No! They wanted to cure cancer or some shit and things just veered wildly off course. You gotta be careful with something so specialized, or else you could end up with the wasted potential of End Of Line.
To wit: the film is a slice of life cop film that wants to highlight the bravery and dedication of our boys in blue. It does this through the use of, love it or hate it, found footage. Now, I know, “Bleh, I fucking hate the shaky cam and why the fuck does every character have to be carrying around a video camera. It’s fucking fake.”
Yes, the entire genre is sketchy at best but I would argue it works best exactly in films like these: typical genre pieces you already know the beats to. That way it can offer a rather fresh perspective on something that might otherwise be stale. Take Cloverfield: there was nothing special about that film until you added found footage. Suddenly Godzilla attacking the city was radical again.
And this technique could work in this film if they stuck to it. At the beginning Donnie Darko is all excited to film his police work and he installs cameras everywhere he goes. Great! Problem solved, let’s just sit back and watch the found footage. But then they decide to pull out of that style at random intervals.
Instead of wobbly Darko cams we’re treated to familiar pans of the L.A. city scape. Yawn. Then a quick establishing shot outside a drug dealers house. THEN back to found footage.
Look, I don’t give a shit how anyone wants to film their movie. The world’s worst director still knows more about film making than my stupid ass. But, for fuck sake, pick a style and stick with it.
Cause, dude, when this film sticks to found footage, it’s fucking rad. There’s a palpable tension in every crime scene because we’re basically just tagging along. It’s a shame they decided that wouldn’t be entertaining enough. They really could’ve had something special.
Anyway, I’ve love to stay and chat but, you know, porn exists and all.