Point Break.

I thought we all knew what we wanted from the Point Break remake: stunts, stunts, stunts, and maybe a few extra stunts. We all understand that they need a bit of script to string it together, but it's not a film where the story is the point.

Sadly, the director was apparently under the impression that he'd stumbled on one of the most poignant dramas ever to be penned by mortal man, and that the bunch of surfers and base-jumpers he'd gathered constituted the finest array of thespians assembled since The Grand Budapest Hotel. The stunts were indeed pretty good — though nowhere near the league of, say, Jackie Chan or Paul Greengrass — but they were almost an afterthought to the interminable, atrociously but oh so earnestly delivered cod pseudo-spiritual environmentalist claptrap that was supposed to provide not only the motivation for the film's villains — a task it failed at so thoroughly that it made it impossible to take them seriously — but also, I horrifiedly suspect, something to make we the audience Really Think.

The film's saving grace is that the dialogue is SO bad that it made me laugh out loud.