2/16/2024 0 Comments There are no saintsStill, there’s no excuse for the vacuum of morals on display. I’m shocked Schrader wrote this, but then I recollect some of the duds on his mostly-impeccable resume (see, or rather don’t, The Canyons ). Characters don’t develop or grow there are, indeed, no saints nor any redeeming qualities. It’s all sound and fury, signifying zilch. The same applies to a fight inside a moving vehicle later on in the film. A bathroom brawl, after which our hero casually flirts with the bartender, could have been infinitely more effective if wiser camera placement and editing choices were made. The shaky cam used throughout There Are No Saints does the relatively well-orchestrated choreography a disservice. Shins get blown off, faces smashed, fingernails yanked, bats break bones, boiling water sears off skin, and a child is tortured. I normally dig this stuff – the gorier, the better – but it must either be truly unnerving, played for laughs, or make some sort of a point. The same applies to all the over-the-top violence. We all know that it still exists, but there’s no point being made here. Even the Jesuit is frequently referred to as a “spic.” This is racism for the sake of racism. Ulloa never tries to justify his disregard for good taste. The story then somehow ends up in the Mexican jungle and concludes on the dourest of notes. Luckily, he receives help from a sexy bartender ( Shannyn Sossamon ), who can lead him to Vincent. With the cops after him, the Jesuit is running out of time to track and take down those scumbags. Released from a prison in South Texas, our heavily-tattooed hero, known as “the Jesuit” (José María Yazpik), goes after the goons – led by a super-evil Vincent ( Neal McDonough ) – who murdered his wife ( Paz Vega ) and kidnapped his son (Keidrich Sellati). ![]() The plot is barely worth noting, as it’s as by-the-numbers as it gets. Alas, instead of a scathing critique of racial injustice, a revamping of the “man seeks revenge after his family is murdered/kidnapped” trope, the director delivers gratuitously violent, vulgar, clichéd, jaw-droppingly sexist, and racist cinematic bile. It boasts a formidable cast of cinema stalwarts. It’s written by the great Paul Schrader, the man behind such classics as Taxi Driver and the recent First Reformed. Alfonso Pineda Ulloa’s action-thriller There Are No Saints should’ve worked on multiple levels.
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