After everything from 1992’s Romper Stomper to 2005’s errant hotel phone, if you still haven’t learned Russell Crowe is not to be fucked with, let Unhinged serve as your zero-ambiguity lesson.
His newly divorced Tom is, after all, a guy who hammers in the skulls of his ex-wife and her new man in the film’s opening scene, and then burns down her house. (Take that, queen of the harpies!) With depression-level girth, a hair-trigger temper and a Ford truck to compensate, Tom is not in the mood to be honked at mere hours later by Rachel (Caren Pistorius, Mortal Engines), a freshly single suburban mom just trying to get her teenage son (Gabriel Bateman, Lights Out) to school on time.
So, when at a stoplight, she impatiently blares her horn and doubles down on her refusal to apologize, Tom takes road rage to a vengeful extreme, not only upending all traffic laws in the process, but playing serial killer with her friends and family in between rounds of their cat-and-mouse pursuits. His methods of dispatch — such as tying a man to a roller chair and setting it aflame before shoving it toward a cop — lean into the slasher territory of Jason Voorhees at his most practical (and unintentionally comical).
Directed with too loose of a grip on the part of Derrick Borte (H8RZ) to offer true escapism — his attention to spatial awareness is kneecapped and even the foreshadowing has foreshadowing — Unhinged arrives in the tradition of such white-knuckle, forward-momentum classics as Duel and Speed. Note the operative word is “tradition,” because Unhinged isn’t in their league; it belongs further down, even underneath your The Call and Premium Rush, but maybe pulling alongside the most recent direct-to-video sequel for Joy Ride if it knows how to parallel park.
Remove the A-list luster of Crowe — who’s coasting, anyway — and its below-averageness as vehicular entertainment becomes all the more apparent. That’s disappointing because when they work, simple films of a breathless chase tend to be real crowd-pleasers.
Here’s your courtesy tap: Move along. —Rod Lott
To my knowledge, 
Putting Xin through his paces from behind the camera is director and co-writer Jimmy Henderson (
Shot on video, the monster-mash monstrosity known as Franky and His Pals feels like the management team of your local Spirit Halloween store got drunk after closing and improvised a movie. In reality, it’s made by Gerald Cormier, producer of such X-rated fare as 
They attend a costume party — conveniently enough, so no one knows their true nature — at a nearby hotel, where they dance, grope women, hop in the sack, judge a bikini contest and participate in one-joke setups that even Rowan and Martin would reject. One running gag has the monsters individually terrified whenever the obese Tammy appears … yet they overwhelmingly vote her the victor in the aforementioned contest — so much for consistency! The night ends when Franky stumbles upon a pot of chili beans in the kitchen, can’t help himself and farts the place into an explosion, which unearths the gold. 
