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There’s something deeply comforting about a movie that knows exactly what it is. War Machine doesn’t pretend to be arthouse sci-fi or a meditative treatise on artificial intelligence.
Patrick Hughes’ latest film doesn’t try to reinvent the circuitry. Instead, it leans into the glorious, high-decibel tradition of late-’80s and early-’90s macho action cinema — the kind where sweat glistens, trees explode, and nobody goes for a whisper if they can give a shout. It…
