The movie has less actual nutritional value than 10 bowls of crushed Froot Loops dust.
It’s Album Time slowly builds an argument that there’s genuine talent behind the sheen of novelty, only to have Terje zigzag in the other direction.
Despite one or two moments of Venture Brothers-worthy fancy, the film is as by-the-numbers as any this series has ever offered.
The DJ/producer is credited with helping to popularize Chicago house in the wake of disco’s greatly exaggerated demise.
Once the money shots of Aronofsky’s version recede, it becomes ever more clear that his intention is to tackle the capriciousness of Old Testament logic.
Freed from the burden of starting anew, Muppets Most Wanted restores the Muppets’ rightful place as stars of their own show.
Neil Burger’s film transcends the déjà vu of its borrowed trappings but ironically sacrifices all momentum in favor of a long series of physical tests.
Beyond the forthright identity politics and titillating theatrical misdemeanors, one still comes away wondering about the things that remain concealed.
The film spent roughly a dozen years in development, and unfortunately it shows.
With Travis Mathews’s help, James Franco’s persona forms a kind of symmetry: 1980’s dubious homophobia against 2013’s risible homophilia.
G I R L may have benefitted from a few more introspective trips back to the drawing board.
Blank Project’s emotional content nearly suggests not only a second act, but a second debut.
It’s still no Drag Race, but the contest for costume design just got a little bit more interesting over the weekend.
Last year’s tie in this category allowed us the unique opportunity to call it either 50 percent right or 50 percent wrong.
On Little Red, the consequences of Katy B’s aloofness are starting to hit home, if only in the moment.
To shove the elephant out of the room right off the bat, two actually relevant things are working against Woody Allen’s chances for a win here.
The film is a deck-stacking simulation of a dialogue it isn’t even remotely interested in opening.
No Oscar category has become as big a flash point among cinephiles as the cinematography prize.
It’s a classic case of two wrongs inciting the Right, from a branch that lately can’t seem to make up its mind whether to nominate too many songs or too few.
That Wasn’t Me is devoid of the snarky arrogance that defines this category’s other recent inexcusable winners.