American Nightmare 5: Unlimited – review on grandpa cleaning


In America, we haven’t changed, and for purge fans, it’s time to expand the game of institutional slaughter beyond the country’s bloody nightly rituals. Therefore, the separatists from all walks of life decided to purify their nation politically and ethnically. Still written by its producer and creator James DeMonaco, does the license still have enough ammunition to make talking powder with American Nightmare 5: No Limits?

At Blumhouse, you never leave a good note alone in your corner. The imagined, written, produced and economically produced saga since its origins, American Nightmare is a lucrative attempt to unite series B bullshit and old-fashioned political fire. A logic that’s basically unfunny, a fortiori in a country where massacres with weapons of war have become almost daily, but which, after the third sympathetic radical episode, begin to empty.

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Looking for a new psychopath who loves big bangs, after imagining the perversion and then the explosion of the Republican runaway who has become symbolically cannibalistic, licensees are logically interested in recycling the newest Trumpism avatar. Indeed, this description of the Purge whose participants refuse to interrupt to start a racist civil war depicts factional attackers as the result of demonstrators storming the Capitol in Washington, days before Joe Biden’s inauguration. The idea isn’t on paper dumber than the rest, and has the advantage of expanding on the dirty kids pamphlet that the series always carries.

Unfortunately, this concept, similar to the previous one, does not eliminate the code saga. The big bad guys are no longer fetish politicians, or seriously ill recyclers, carnivals, and Marilyn Manson’s music videos, one of the rare signature elements of his “mythology” quickly took over.

Granted, aside from a pair of booby traps or ambushes during the first half hour, we won’t find any more typical American Nightmare costumes, these little clipesque pranks, oh so shallow, but nonetheless the general identity of the thing. However, when you take over from this endless firefight, her simple attire… has soft sleeves.

Losing any semblance of artistic direction, poor Everardo Gout does what he can, meaning almost nothing. We follow the action, via a floating camera that is never inspired, bathed in photos that are sometimes boring, sometimes artificially overexposed.

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We want to make us believe in a merciless hunt in the heart of Texas that returns to barbarism, but we have to crinkle our eyelids hard so we don’t see any barbecue submerged in fuel oil between two shelled and three shaved. Because if the annual batch of American Nightmare this time is entitled to unlimited , let alone without a budget.

Staging tries well, here and there, to hide extra flaws, beats close-up offers, plays with focal lengths to keep most of the frame in “artistic” blur… inspiration is at least less as much as biffeton. The pill is all the more bitter because when the story wants to be more symbolic and political, it drags its feet, or sinks into Z.

Whether it’s the redeeming alliance of a rancher and a Mexican immigrant against the backdrop of a lasso attack, or the idea of ​​reversing Mexico/US relations (like Le Jour d’after… 20 years ago), it all lacks heart, hate, and invention.