he is. As the three more experienced men quickly and calmly do their jobs, Waingro trembles as the guard stands in front of him, a thousand yard stare on his face. As he loses control he lashes out, striking the man with his gun, grasping at violence to regain control of the situation. “You see that shit coming out of their ears? They can’t fucking hear you. Cool it.”



The guard looks forward blankly at Waingro, framed in the center of the screen, the camera slowly coming in. It humanizes him, gives him life and character in direct contrast to the dehumanization of the robbers. The camera cuts back to Waingro and repeats its action, zooming slowly on his face. But where a human’s features should be, there isdown. As he does it, it makes a statement about his character. These men are differentiated by very little, and even as they hunt one another, they are the same person. Masked in violence, they are relentless killers, unstoppable monsters of death and destruction, motivated by the same selfish desires for money or recognition. In their wake they leave a trail of bodies that would make any horror movie monster blush.



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Tom has been writing about media since he was a senior in high school. He likes long walks on the beach, dark liquor, and when characters reload guns in action movies.









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