Machine Gun Preacher

Meet Sam Childers. He was a crack- smoking, wife-abusing, trailer-trash Hell’s Angel who embraced a life of uncurbed debauchery. Then he found himself a new wingman, a guy by the name of Jesus. He cleaned up his act, replaced the studded leather waistcoats with pastel leisurewear and erected a church. But he had too much love to spread, so shipped out to Sudan, got hold of some black-market firearms and vowed to save the children of war. Childers (brought to life by Gerard Butler in a manner which mistakes shouting for passion) makes for an intriguing subject, and his story throws up all manner of paradoxes about violent acts in the name of religion and the moral implications of charity work when it comes at the expense of your family, community and country. Alas, Marc Forster’s film settles for balmy, ‘Cry?Freedom’-style melodrama which refuses to take its slippery subject to task. And as storytelling, the need to cram in facts and events makes ‘Machine Gun Preacher’ feel too much like one large and needlessly glossy montage sequence.