Jeff Goldblum’s performance is as convincing as the ecstasy-stoked glaze on the face of Anne Heche’s Midwest gal.
Most impressive here is the deft unraveling of the film’s conspiracy theory and the tongue-in-cheek approach to euthanasia.
It might just confuse cinephiles who believe that Pearl Harbor by a foreign name must smell sweeter.
There’s something to be said about a film that doesn’t bullshit around.
Juliette Binoche gets spat on, which is far more interesting than seeing her hawk chocolate morsels.
Harold Becker’s easily digestible fil may be too efficient for its own good.
In Danis Tanovic’s No Man’s Land the war in Bosnia-Herzegovina is transformed into a Beckett endgame.
Now here’s a sadistic bike-centered flick that would have made Vittorio De Sica proud.
Tony Scott knows how to put on a good show.
Cameron Crowe’s finale is visually chilling if only because the WTC makes its most apt, post-9/11 appearance to date.
There’s absolutely no reason why Gil Junger’s Black Knight should work.
As far as stuffy Oxford dramas go, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone has them all beat.
After the tired Mametisms of Heist and the dopey repartee of The Score, Ocean’s Eleven must count as a breath of fresh air.
The only misstep in Shallow Hal is that it naïvely explains its titular chauvinist’s superficiality as product of saucy father love.
The film’s humor is snappy, its attention to detail outstanding.
The film is perhaps best enjoyed by those new to Dargio Argento.
Imagine if you will American Beauty in the hands of Bob Villa.
This slick rush job that recalls everything from Trilobyte’s classic video game 7th Guest to Ghost in the Graveyard.
The Simian Line makes you choke on its old-fashioned, spiritless dust.
Ernest R. Dickerson’s Bones out-funks all horror films currently on the market.