With added scope but little to justify its bloated heft, MST3K is the show’s own Manos: The Hands of Fate.
The film doesn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with many episodes of the TV show.
Memory Thief chews more than it can swallow.
An anorexic premise could’ve been a great and unusual disaster film if only Twister had taken the courage to keep everything pared down.
Twister is so 1990s it hurts.
Annie’s “Tomorrow” never sounded so optimistic.
Serial Mom is the strongest film of the post-midnight-movie chapter of John Waters’s career.
Anna Biller’s influences are as naked as her delightfully curvaceous body is in the riotous 1970s throwback Viva.
The menu buttons are shaped like sombreros. I trust I needn’t say more.
It fails to summon from them the magisterial dignity one expects from the finer NYC vomitoriums.
The New York Ripper took all the fun out of New York City’s photogenic death throes.
Both the crypto-zombies of Nightmare City and the film itself are fast-paced sons of bitches.
It mostly works as an example of how difficult it is for Generation X to serve as parental figures for the millennial generation.
Zombie fans: run, don’t walk! Well, maybe just move briskly.
The neglected standing of Blast of Silence is the film’s own best proof of its uniquely wallflowerish take on film noir tropes.
Blast of Silence begins with a brutal, uncompromising invocation of birth and ends with an almost mystically sensitive death.
August Darnell’s best work as represented in this compilation resonates with the sort of truthful empathy one has to earn.
E=MC² does reach a solution but not before Mariah bends over backward to show her work.
Check out Miss Miller riding down the freeway of Alzheimer’s in her pink Cadillac.
The film is worth one toked-out viewing for Dody Goodman’s gratingly senile Miss Miller and her description of the trio’s daily breakfast menu