As if conceived during a Dukes of Hazzard shooting hiatus, Out Cold may be retro, but it’s sans daisy dukes.
The game of Clue never looked as good as it does in Altman’s film.
Despite Richard Eyre’s flowery direction, there’s a brave humanism at work here as Iris.
This ain’t no Friday. In fact, you’d be wasting a perfectly good high on it.
In Marc Foster’s cure-the-hate melodrama, chocolate love goes a long way in soothing frayed white-black relations.
As reductive as it is comfortably airtight, the film is a lovely romantic scruple for those weary of Woody Allen’s aging neuroses.
The film is a reductive slice and dice of six years in the life of two Sicilian brothers.
With little breathing room for emotional high-stakes, Heist is little more than pompous Mametisms on parade.
Cat O’ Nine Tails begins Argento’s lifelong fascination with the grotesque close-up.
As far as feminist horror primers go, none come as fully-realized as Ginger Snaps.
Michael Mann’s latest is a love-struck slow dance through the life of Muhammad Ali.
A Beautiful Mind is like a brick to the head to anyone who ever winced at the utterance of “infinity plus one.”
Christophe Gans’s The Brotherhood of the Wolf has artifice working shamelessly to and against its favor.
It’s hard enough on the streets for a Latino man, let alone a mentally disabled one.
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.