Cassie Fowler is a single mother who works as a realtor. She struggles for what's happening in the midst of the 2009 housing crisis. But her struggling has just begun, what add fuel to the fire when she witnesses a murder, leading her to enter a serious trouble that she tries to do her best to get out from it.
Danny McBride is at his funniest and scariest in "Arizona," a darkly comic film noir that works well as both a violent thriller and as a ruthless satire of over-extended American dreamers.
The pressure was on first time director Watson to let McBride loose. It's a shame. I'm not suggesting that he couldn't carry a picture, but here McBride is terribly one-note-a lunatic with zero redeeming qualities to shape him.
Severely wasting the talents of Rosemary DeWitt, who really, really deserves better material, Arizona is as arid and barren as the state that provides its title.
Bad things happen, punchlines land hard enough to pop your eyes and Judeo-Christian principles are torn away like bark being ripped off old trees. It's a lot of fun.
"Arizona" doesn't benefit from passes at intensity, doing just fine as a character study of unhinged types drowning in financial ruin while stuck in the middle of a town that was meant to represent paradise.
This 85-minute, "Ten Little Indian"-style comedy-horror mash-up is basically a cameo-studded muddle that may have looked good on paper, but movie screens aren't made of paper.
