Armored is one of those movies whose trailer got played so many times in front of other movies, for what seemed to be an interminable amount of months, that you feel like you’ve already seen it. And you pretty much have, although it’s still a mildly enjoyable 88 minutes — decent, but by no means necessary.
Columbus Short is Ty, the cash-strapped vet who secures a gig with an armored truck company (so that’s what the title refers to) in an attempt to set a new, clean course in life. That route appears doable until co-worker Mike (Matt Dillon, doing Matt Dillon) approaches him with an offer he can’t refuse: He and his fellow armorees (I just made that word up) — Laurence Fishburne, Jean Reno, Skeet Ulrich and that Hispanic guy from Prison Break — will hijack their own truck and make off with $42 million.
Needing money so child welfare can’t split him from his orphaned little brother, who likes to graffiti owls on their kitchen wall, Ty agrees, even though Skeet is involved. All goes according to plan until some asshole hobo has to fuck everything up, and, well, money corrupts, especially when we’re talking enough Benjamins to fund a Dillon vehicle.
Predators helmer Nimród Antal directs with enough competency to keep things slick and moving along, even when the story gives up. Short is really likable in this, which is good, because Heroes‘ Milo Ventimiglia, as a cop, is not. In his first scene, he scarfs down chili cheese dogs like he’s auditioning for gay porn. —Rod Lott
Drawn to Los Angeles to sell her life story to Phil Silvers’ troubled Warkoff Brothers Studios, she decides instead to go the independent route when she discovers that lover/Silvers’ lackey Adam West is an even bigger whore than she is. Naturally, in order to finance the film, the merry madam turns to her crew of pneumatic working girls, who bring in big profits and bigger comedic complications.
Drive is so much fun that not even Hardison or Murphy — neither a reliable presence — can kill it. Directed by Steve Wang (
A thin story emerges: In one major metropolitan area, survivors live in a well-fortressed downtown area surrounded by rivers, barbed wire, electric fences and armed guards to keep the undead out. The rich among them live in a palatial skyscraper filled with fine dining, shopping and housing, all owned by the wealthy Dennis Hopper. He’s hired armies to roam the streets for the sole purpose of killing zombies. 
The chase isn’t as interesting as the film’s Tim Burton-esque bleakness and pervading sense of dark humor, both welcome elements to what could have been sheer kiddie junk (as the rather sly opening parodies, with a crudely animated “The Littlest Elf” cartoon). And I’d wager that the closing credits may be the most amazing cinema has ever seen.