MARV Review

Let’s just say this flick is a monument to beige. The plot? A man who was abandoned at birth is going to *fight* for his inheritance? Seriously? It’s like watching a beige-colored funeral. The characters? Glen Powell’s mustache is the only thing that doesn’t look remotely pathetic. The whole thing is a protracted, agonizingly slow-motion exercise in navel-gazing about family legacies. The “killing” part? It involves a lot of paperwork and a ridiculously oversized minivan. And the audience gets to witness a pathetic attempt at emotional resonance, like watching a particularly dull tax audit. It’s a cinematic experience designed to induce existential dread and a profound sense of wasted time. Zero spark. Zero pizzazz. Zero…anything remotely interesting.