This ludicrous, rabid thriller, shot largely on first-person GoPros, is like Peep Show on PCP. The cumulative effect is of being crammed into a monster-truck tyre and rolled down Mount Everest. It is relentlessly committed to packing the frame with gratuitously entertaining gimmickry, and needlessly annotates the action in pink graffiti – for example, totting up at one point how many people the hero has knocked unconscious with a dildo – so that it borderline qualifies as experimental cinema. Among the many advantages of its perspective is that it helps us buy that John Hannah, 64, is a parkour genius.
Hannah plays Karl Davis – or that is apparently his name, when this amnesiac wakes up to a Hangover-like bombsite of a hotel room. He’s got a banging headache, party detritus is littered everywhere, and there is a dead body in the bathtub. Or perhaps this scenario is Crank inverted; Davis has left a box of pills and a note to self to take one whenever his heart rate gets too elevated. Which of course happens 10 seconds later. A pair of fake police officers arrive to search the room, only for Davis to trounce them with scary efficiency, just as maid Molly (Radha Mitchell), with whom he shacked up the night before, walks through the door.
