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Guy Ritchie certainly delivers the stylish irreverence and glossy explosions that one would expect. However, the film spreads itself too thin, getting caught up in the dull minutiae of WWII backdealing and proxy battles and trying to service its sprawling cast of ragtag heroes. Henry Cavill is game as ever, as Ritchie seems to be the only filmmaker who pulls the chilly weirdness beneath the burly exterior. The movie’s MVP is without a doubt Alan Ritchson, who manages to outweird Cavill with lust for blood (and, to my surprise, Henry Golding). Eiza Gonzalez has a moment of genuine, unsettling depth, but she lacks the presence to carry the film’s A-minus plot. A solidly entertaining and cheeky flick that could’ve really cooked with a sharper knife.
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