Do y’all remember that brief moment in history when Twinkies went extinct? It was sometime in the early 2010s. Those soft, golden sponge cake treats that had become synonymous with American consumerism were pulled from shelves. Suddenly the most iconic junk food in the world was just gone. The thought of the Twinkie disappearing had been at one time a few years earlier such a comic hypothetical, it was an entire plot arc in the film Zombieland - Woody Harrelson wanders the country in search of his own stash of calorific gold. Twinkies were heralded, disgustedly and otherwise, as a timeless entity, something so superficial, its shelf life had half-lives, a cockroaches compatriot as one of two survivors in the event of nuclear fallout. Twinkies, like a good action star, seemed unkillable.

I promise there is a review for Bullet Train here, but if you’ll indulge me for a moment, I mention Twinkies because, despite their adverse health effects, I like them. When they returned to shelves nationwide after a multi-year absence, it felt like it was a win for noxious American iconography. And I, a woefully self-indulgent patriot, was happy to see the return of the Twinkie. I was tired of the faux-brand alternatives, the Liam-Neeson-straight-to-DVD level knock-offs of my favorite snack. With Twinkies on shelves again, real, top tier trash was back. 

And I relished that. There’s nothing better than sitting down and gorging yourself on something with exactly zero nutritional value. They’re overlong, overstuffed, oversaturated rolls of nothingness. Empty calories for the sake of empty calories. I never - and I do mean never - feel bad when I’m eating a Twinkie. It isn’t until after the fact that I question my dietary decisions. 

The beauty of a Twinkie, though, is that it’s just good enough that I never feel too bad about myself for enjoying it. It’s good enough that every couple weeks, I think to myself, “You know what I could really go for right now: a Twinkie.”

So, I go get a Twinkie. And I have a great goddamn time munching on it. And when someone says, “How can you enjoy that thing?” I roll my eyes and ask back, “Have you tasted it?” It’s not tiramisu, but hey, not everyone can be a Kurosawa. Sometimes you just gotta admit that the shitty little treats that poison the general American public, writ large, can actually be extremely satisfying.

And this is where we get to Brad Pitt’s newest action B-movie, because I feel for Bullet Train the way I feel for Twinkies. The film, much like America’s favorite dessert, is packed with fatty, unnecessary bits. It’s all style and no substance. It is, on a fundamental level, fun; and that is something moviegoers have sorely missed the last few years. A pandemic and mid-tier movie drought have ravaged theaters, taking their Twinkies off the shelves. But with Bullet Train, shamelessly glutenous cinema is back and I’m here for it.

I want to live in a world where Bullet Train type films exist. Just like how I want live in a world where Twinkies are on the shelves; where people don’t wander the streets like Woody Harrelson in search of a slice of American culture that no longer exists. I know that’s “bad”. I know it’s not entirely logical. I know it may even be considered carelessly toxic. I don’t really care. A Twinkie is a Twinkie. And also, Bullet Train is a Twinkie. Neither are the crème de la crème so to speak, but in their own respects, they’re both still wonderfully golden in my eyes - and that’s good enough for me.

Acting and Casting - 2 | Visual Effects and Editing - 1 | Story and Message - 0 | Entertainment Value - 2 | Music Score and Soundtrack - 1 | Reviewer's Preference -2 | What does this mean?