Relax. Tony Scott’s calmed down. He’s gone cold turkey on amphetamine flash, loosed cameras from their space-hoppers and slashed edit jiggery-pokery in half. Gone are the twitchy jump-cuts and jarring, repetitive “I am a bounty hunter, bounty hunter” voiceover. Removed from gimmickry, this odd hybrid of sci-fi and romance is allowed to breathe by itself, brimming with emotion and suspense. It’s a Scott film where substance thwacks one over substances, an electric thriller made by a filmmaker who’s left his glitchy toys at home.
Read the full Deja Vu review
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