Imagine if you will, a man of mystery. He’s someone you hire, a mercenary of sorts, and he’s often employed by powerful and wealthy corporations. His job takes him around the world to fulfill contracts that usually involve gunfights, car chases and explosions. And he’s known only by a codename. I’m of course talking about McG, director of two "Charlie’s Angels" pictures, a mostly tolerable football melodrama, and the red-headed stepchild of the "Terminator" franchise, Terminator Salvation.
McG’s style, so to speak, emphasizes the kind of shallow and insubstantial gratification you often associate with another brand of mass consumption starting with an upper-case "M" and lower-case "c." So it’s really not surprising that his latest film, This Means War, continues the tradition of all-encompassing vacuousness. The real shame is that even without the shackles of franchises and true stories, McG still decided to make This Means War play like a bland remake/sequel to an entire genre, specifically bad romantic comedies designed for an insidiously strategic strike on those deflated by another unfulfilling Valentine’s Day.