I love getting faked out by the movies.

I love believing the impossible, if only for a moment. Moviewise, I live for a lot of things; one of them, by which I was floored at the age 5, was Buster Keaton’s “Cops” (1922) and his startling genius as a physical and comic presence. Half the time, at that age, I wasn’t sure if what I was watching was actually happening. That’s how it is with beautiful illusions, created from real risks that become the audience’s reward.

When the right people collaborate on the right movie, it sometimes happens: a fresh combination of legitimately dangerous stunt work and crafty but not frantic editing, along with the inevitable layer of digital effects elements. What do you get? Honest fakery. The best kind. The kind that elicits a single, astonished, delighted

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