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Iscritto in data gen 2023
Distintivi2
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Recensioni2
Valutazione di pprmvxmp
I started Delhi Crime 2 thinking, "Okay, this is a solid 7." By episode 4, it gently dipped to a 5. And by the grand finale, it proudly swan-dived to a 1.
For some reason, the showrunners decided that the best way to portray seasoned senior police officers, who look like they're already filling out retirement forms , was to show them reacting to tragedy like they've never seen death in their entire 30-year careers. The over-dramatic grief, the trembling lips, the slow-motion eye-quivers... all bordering on Olympic-level cringe.
But the real comedy begins in the climax. Picture this: a huge container yard, dozens of armed cops, and instead of asking the yard authorities for the container number (you know, like normal humans?), our police force decides to wander around looking very serious, as if they're searching for enlightenment, not a metal box. Meanwhile, bullets are flying around, and two elderly lady cops are in the middle of it like they wandered into the wrong film set.
By the end, one thing is crystal clear: this show is nothing, absolutely nothing, like the first season. Season 1 was gripping. Season 2 is... well, unintentionally hilarious.
For some reason, the showrunners decided that the best way to portray seasoned senior police officers, who look like they're already filling out retirement forms , was to show them reacting to tragedy like they've never seen death in their entire 30-year careers. The over-dramatic grief, the trembling lips, the slow-motion eye-quivers... all bordering on Olympic-level cringe.
But the real comedy begins in the climax. Picture this: a huge container yard, dozens of armed cops, and instead of asking the yard authorities for the container number (you know, like normal humans?), our police force decides to wander around looking very serious, as if they're searching for enlightenment, not a metal box. Meanwhile, bullets are flying around, and two elderly lady cops are in the middle of it like they wandered into the wrong film set.
By the end, one thing is crystal clear: this show is nothing, absolutely nothing, like the first season. Season 1 was gripping. Season 2 is... well, unintentionally hilarious.
By someone who remembers when racing wasn't a spectacle-it was war.
Behind the smoke from the burning tyres, F1 isn't just another high-octane film about fast cars and faster egos. It speaks directly to a generation like mine-those of us in our late forties and fifties-who grew up watching racing legends write history, lap by lap. We've witnessed Formula 1 evolve from sheer mechanical grit and human willpower to today's world of data, design, and dazzling tech. And yet, this film reminds us that at the core of it all, it still comes down to heart, hunger, and execution.
This isn't a movie chasing social media trends or trying to be fashionable. It's not polished to the point of vanity. It's visceral. Every scene, every turn on the track, every moment in the pit lane echoes a time when victory wasn't defined by brand endorsements but by fractions of a second. It brings back the rawness of the sport-the brutal beauty of speed and the silent power of strategy that doesn't always come from a headset-wearing team principal, but from instinct, legacy, and grit.
Brad Pitt delivers one of his most restrained and focused performances yet-no theatrics, just presence. He doesn't try to outrun the story; he lets it breathe through him. And Javier Bardem? Charisma and weight in every frame. He brings a gravitas that feels like the soul of the sport itself-jaded but not broken, calculating but still passionate.
F1 is a film for purists. For those who remember when the only thing more important than the car was the driver. It's a nod to a time when winning mattered more than eyeballs and likes, when the goal wasn't just to entertain-but to endure. And in that sense, F1 doesn't just win-it roars.
Behind the smoke from the burning tyres, F1 isn't just another high-octane film about fast cars and faster egos. It speaks directly to a generation like mine-those of us in our late forties and fifties-who grew up watching racing legends write history, lap by lap. We've witnessed Formula 1 evolve from sheer mechanical grit and human willpower to today's world of data, design, and dazzling tech. And yet, this film reminds us that at the core of it all, it still comes down to heart, hunger, and execution.
This isn't a movie chasing social media trends or trying to be fashionable. It's not polished to the point of vanity. It's visceral. Every scene, every turn on the track, every moment in the pit lane echoes a time when victory wasn't defined by brand endorsements but by fractions of a second. It brings back the rawness of the sport-the brutal beauty of speed and the silent power of strategy that doesn't always come from a headset-wearing team principal, but from instinct, legacy, and grit.
Brad Pitt delivers one of his most restrained and focused performances yet-no theatrics, just presence. He doesn't try to outrun the story; he lets it breathe through him. And Javier Bardem? Charisma and weight in every frame. He brings a gravitas that feels like the soul of the sport itself-jaded but not broken, calculating but still passionate.
F1 is a film for purists. For those who remember when the only thing more important than the car was the driver. It's a nod to a time when winning mattered more than eyeballs and likes, when the goal wasn't just to entertain-but to endure. And in that sense, F1 doesn't just win-it roars.