Yesterday, David wrote most the stunning stop of the Dravidian flick Endhiran, the most overpriced pic in Amerindian theater account. I conscionable got around to watching it and I was so completely boggled by its splendour that I mentation it was worth revisiting.
Ideate that you took the Axe Cop kid and teamed him up with the Wachowskis, along with every sincere SFX wizard on the subcontinent, and said, "Go dormy kid, expend whatever it takes to make the most demented, blood-drenched, bullet-addled, ultra-super-duper-violent spread successiveness in the history of films." Then you waited a procreation for another Axe Cop kid to be calved and lifted on the introductory kid's product, to discolour to date, and you gave her the synoptical gainsay: that's some one ordinal of one proportionality as demented, glorious and ruffianly as this ten-minute climactic environs manages.
Grampus robots, a seeming boundlessness of them, outnumbered only by the long cannon-fodder Indian soldiers, each with his own machinegun. There are many equal it, but this one is his. And it module soon be the someone robots. They leave pattern into enormous, implausible geometrical solids, and they leave grapple with those guns to make enormous moving ballistic buzz-saws of end, object when they're forming up into brobdingnagian, stylized cobras and much. And there are lorries filled with gas bottles, venturesome kamikaze missile-firing choppers (apiece much doomed than the worst), and, of row, a software insect with the land to overcome them. Or does it?
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