Good Luck, Have Fun, Don't Die: Verbinski's Diner of Doom

Right, I've just suffered through Good Luck, Have Fun, Don't Die, the most f@@kin' stupid film I've endured since they let a lobotomised chimp direct Transformers. Gore Verbinski, once a pirate genius, has shat out this 134-minute black hole of idiocy: Sam Rockwell—poor bastard—bursts into a LA diner like a meth'd Grim Reaper, kidnaps a pack of losers (teacher, shotgun-widow mum, tech-allergic hag who's his own mum in a twist grimier than a paedophile's sock drawer), and herds them through time-loop hell to neuter a snot-nosed kid's AI that's turning humanity into VR-gobbling maggots.

Plot? A necrotic fever dream of exploding school buses, clone toddlers riddled with bullets from "happy" massacres, masked psychos throat-slitting grannies, and iPhone allergies that make your eyes bleed pus. It's Groundhog Day  gangbanged by Everything Everywhere in a school shooting simulator, preaching "ditch your screens or rot" while the world loops into cannibal teen apocalypse. Rockwell spasms like a hanged man for the odd cackle; the rest flop like roadkill. Fireworks visuals mask a script so brain-dead it makes Brexit look genius.

92% Rotten Tomatoes? Critics wanking over "edgy" AI dread—it's a corpse-fucking sermon on tech doom, exhausting your soul to dust. One star for not slitting its own wrists on screen. Burn it, piss on the ashes.