This movie could only work if the jokes were funny, and writers David Warner and Michael Udesky don't deliver the goods.. It's clear that the band's internecine struggles -- even with their ante upped by infidelity, addiction, and pregnancy -- aren't going to provide enough grist for Proyas's visual mill.. A movie of shopworn riffs and borrowed noise, dressed up with considerable surface polish and glam production values.. . For all its libidinous, chemically suggestive bombast, it's essentially...
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