68 Kill

I'm too frustrated by the stuff that keeps me ill at ease to give it a pass, the uglier aspects of this hellacious road trip into madness rubbing me too far the wrong way.

It's cheap and trashy and tasteless, but it's not unfun, and there's a pleasing measure of low-budget craft on display.

The kind of piece that needs to move 100MPH from first scene to last for you to overlook its flaws. It slows down for too long to recommend the ride.

Those who pick through every motion picture searching for the "problematic" will want to steer clear of "68 Kill." But fans of wicked women may have a new cult favorite.

Nearly a de facto remake of After Hours, writer-director Trent Haaga's lively trailer-park thriller 68 Kill keeps the hostility and loses the self-deprecation, which turns it into an example of misogyny rather than an examination of it.

Nuttier than a bakery full of fruitcakes and sleazier than a cheap strip club, "68 Kill" is a proudly morbid heist movie that wallows in bad taste and still comes off as absurdly funny.

The entire tone of the film is that of “fun, midnight movie,” it’s just that, upon any analysis other than its surface value, it doesn’t hold up.

68 Kill is a horror-comedy-action thrill ride, one that goes for insane and then amps up the volume on that way past 11.

69 Kill won't bore you, and at least it tries something new, conceptually, but the poor execution will most likely doom it to obscurity.

[68 Kill is] so obviously written and directed by a man (well, two men including the novel) that it's laughable to even suggest there's any depth to it, let alone a subversion of gender roles.