I enjoyed the spectacle of it, and—having been bedridden for six days with the flu—was stoked to simply be able to shower and wander beyond the bed for a couple hours.
It's a M A S S I V E movie, with a production schedule covering Malta, Spain, Canada, India, and England. The aftercredits roll on and on for days, dwarfing Lord of the Rings. I'm not kidding; the film is over two hours long, but the credits are nearly fifteen minutes long.
Production value is high, but the martial arts employed are flowery, ornate, and cheesy. Wushu-fu.
And the film could have easily been called Gargoyle, because everyone seems hellbent on finding the highest perch on the tallest church, and making funny faces staring into the wind and sun.
The storyline, of course, is as contrived and loose as a Dan Brown novel, but c'est la vie: in a film based on a computer game, suspending one's disbelief comes with the territory. I'm fine with that; it's not a documentary.
Having become acclimated to Bourne's and The Accountant's Krav Maga, seeing something reminiscent of Jean-Claude Van Damme reminds me how silly Bloodsport and Lionheart were.
Oh well; new day, new dawn.