The only thing that could’ve made Vergara’s contribution grislier would have been to fellate a Chiquita banana.
The Longest Ride is truly no country for old ambiguity.
“God’ll get you for that, Walter.” And Walter had better watch out, because finally having the complete Maude on DVD proves God’s existence.
Home’s exposition is a mess of forced zaniness, which leaves the rest of the film with a Swiss-cheese foundation.
A Little Golden Book version of drastically simplified socialism accompanied with a healthy dose of warmongering bravado.
Vince Vaughn’s cinematic existence is that he’s a paragon for reformed chauvinism. He’s an irrepressible but highly tamable id. Not so here.
The Maysles and the Beales are culpable in giving the film its goon-show edge, which undoubtedly accounts for its pull on some audiences.
Tempted though I might be to end an Oscar season I began so long ago quoting Into the Woods’s Witch by dropping another choice lyric from “Last Midnight”, there’s a legitimate three-way race to call this year.
The film deposits its heroine and everyone in the audience looking toward her for image-maintaining guidance back at square one.
The gynophobic evidence is there and it’s damning.
In what’s become an annual tradition, last weekend’s Writers Guild Awards weren’t much of a trial heat for the Oscars.
The debate surrounding the allegedly intentional inscrutability of Interstellar’s dialogue is unquestionably more of a liability in the sound mixing category, where clarity and precision is the whole point.
If best animated film, best documentary feature, and best director begat the year’s most conspicuous snubs, best sound mixing boasts the most controversial nomination: Interstellar.
Five respectable, if not especially revelatory, nominees; no controversy.
The Academy’s ever-mercurial music branch turned on to Desplat like a light switch starting with 2006’s The Queen, and in just 10 years, he’s racked up eight nominations.
This year’s slate gives us PSTD-drenched flashbacks to the legion of fanboys defending the honor of their beloved caped crusaders in our various comments sections.
Just as the correlation between Record of the Year and Song of the Year seems to be truly drifting apart, along comes a nearly five-for-five slate.
Us in 2014 about the best production design Oscar, following a string of missed guesses in this category: “We don’t know shit.”
The closer this category flirts with mainstream appeal, the closer we are to wholly justifiable nominations for, say, “Turn Down for What.”
Its dedication to the transgressive power of frivolity remains the franchise’s greatest weapon.