That crucial third act would make a heck of a short film on its own. If we could fast-forward to there, we would be in business. Instead, we get the Eastwood hero worship vanity project parade. Invisible yet incredibly overt, The 15:17 to Paris freely flies its flags of god-fearing conservative morals, manly superiority, unwavering courage, dreams of glory, and military brotherhood. The content isn't lowered for Eastwood’s credibility, but the execution is, even if there is an audience for this sort of thing.
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