I hope next time we play these Xhaka destroys this player with a follow through, he needs a taste of his own medicine, he's a nasty
little dirt bag who needs a kick up the ass.
Some of the expositional shorthand towards the end of it (like the tidy
little cans of
dirt in the
bag of Tom Sizemore's Sgt. Horvath, each neatly labeled with their country of origin) is a
little too easy, but we're disappointed to discover that Robert Rodat's script isn't taking the risks we thought it was with that long opening sequence — he's merely reshuffling, postponing until after the battle the kind of sluggish exposition and historical pageantry we were so thankful that the picture was skipping.