There is a point where a loose-canon bonkers-insane inmate knows he shouldn’t push the ‘Big Red Button,’ the fire all guns defense system on an orbiting space-prison, and for about two seconds he caresses the console around it before howling with glee and mashing the button, only to apologize to his superior later. That’s Lockout in a nutshell. A confectionary composite of John Carpenter’s Escape From New York, John McTiernan’s Die Hard and oddly enough, David Mamet’s Spartan, this Luc Besson action picture is fun precisely because its star, Guy Pearce, has a cocksure chemistry with the camera. Far more than Rhadha Mitchell Rhona Mitra in Doomsday, a film that could be a kissing cousin to this one for its short-hand on other sci-fi action classics.
Nobody takes the war more seriously than P.K. Sullivan (Gage Munroe with his afore-mentioned Beiber do) facies himself General George S. Patton; albeit he is young enough that loyalty is not valued as much as a collection of soldiers to throw under the bus for whatever plan he has to win-at-all-costs. Nevertheless, as the alpha-male of his team, he remains in charge. The other team, headed up by equally blonde, Quinn, has some leadership issues, and the only girl in the game which adds some pre-teen sexual tension to the equation. Mackenzie Munroe, who looks like a very young Emma Stone is really quite magnificent and has real screen presence (some of the other supporting kid actors are a bit more dodgey in their acting) sporting a brain and a crossbow and A-cups (and is not afraid to use either or all of them.) Let us be clear, while this film wears the clothing of war and adventure in the woods, it is equally interested in being a crucible for all of the kids to work out their issues and anxieties while waiting for the next battle. But war is 10% violence and 90% waiting, so there are plenty of opportunities to talk about religion, philosophy (albeit at a youth level) and what species of dog would you allow to give you a blow-job if you were rewarded with riches and fame. Yes, these 12 year olds drop F-bombs often, and when provoked can be total assholes to each other. War is war. 
Roger Brown by day is a corporate headhunter looking for a new CEO of GPS technology conglomerate Pathfinder. His interviews with candidates involve a speech about the power of a solid reputation. Small talk veers towards cultural tastes, specifically art, and whether or not they like or own dogs. It is all neat and efficient, even if Roger lays the process out with the smug condescending tone of one in power in a corporate situation. But there is an alternate purpose, while these would-be CEOs are at the arranged interview with Pathfinder Roger dons a courier uniform and robs them of the very valuable paintings they indicated to him. With the help of a home security installer (with a weakness for guns and Russian prostitutes), and an art forger who is efficient enough at making replacement substitutes that would make Elmyr de Hory proud, Roger has a lucrative second income. An income he dumps into his lavish modernist home, impulsive jewelry purchases and start-up capital for his tall, blonde and intelligent wife Diane’s nascent art gallery. In a coincidence that should raise eyebrows, a friend of Diane, and the former CEO of another GPS firm, Clas, comes to Roger looking for the Pathfinder position and is in possession of a Peter Paul Rubens’ acrylic valued at $100 million dollars. This sets Roger in action for the biggest score of his cat burglar career until everything goes completely wrong. At one point the slick corporate operator is up to his eyeballs in shit – literally. 
