Its triumph is primarily a matter of style, a visionary revelation every bit as expressionistic as its main character's electric sense of shade.
A relentless stream of narrative twists and turns that exude neither imagination in their craftsmanship nor moral revulsion in their implications.
It ends up feeling like an unsatisfying cautionary tale on how much detachment is too much detachment.
The film operates as if under the presumption that the sketchiness of its various insights will be smoothed over
It understands that fitting in, for many contemporary youth, means standing out by attaching oneself to ideological tenets.
The underlying, redundant, and underwhelming theme of the film is the pursuit of family unity at all costs.
Meet Me in Montenegro is yet another movie about a failed writer with no money.
Another link in an increasingly tiresome chain of navel-gazing think pieces posing as personal documentary.
The film fails to supply an emotional punch to match the grandeur of its Lawrence of Arabia-inspired compositions.
Magic Mike XXL plays like the party bus whose road was charitably paved.
This edge of self-justification neuters the usual confidence in Schwarzenegger's deadpan wisecracking, further revealing the transparency of this cash grab.
It mostly succeeds in conveying a galvanizing sense of what made Winehouse so immediately engaging.
Ken Loach's staging is so calm and sober that it turns his story into an expertly photographed yet weirdly remote rebellion tale.
Even Les Blank's most conventional work remains an elusive vision, punctuated by cultural insights that elude many filmmakers for their entire careers.
The filmmakers maintain a tone that's mostly ideal for the contemporary equivalent of a drive-in movie: of reverent, parodic irreverence.
The filmmakers aren't really interested in the space between what these women say and what they mean.
A stunning work of war reportage nestled within a creaky study of ideological purity.
The film comes undone in its clumsy attempts to transform its story into a parable of economic distress.
Ron "Stray Dog" Hall proves to be a welcome antidote to stereotypes about burly, bearded red-state RV dwellers.
The end result suggests Re-Animator as told through an airless CNN report.
The film is just another fantasy of living only the good portions of the life of an artist.
The film is a redundant showcase for Seth MacFarlane's racy, dick-centric sense of humor.
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