Whoever thinks of Death Race 2000 as second-rate is only half wrong.
Roger Corman didn’t direct this drive-in hit, but it bears his imprint of economic utilitarianism.
Biggie has no one to blame for this overwhelming cavalier negligence but himself.
The films of Frank Tashlin, Jerry Lewis, and Hope and Crosby all worked the same territory, ZAZ just took it as far as it would go without snapping.
Once the film’s fanatics find out that this edition is mostly a gussied-up replay of the previous one, the shit’ll really hit the fan.
Right now, Raja Gosnell’s career is the bane of most sensible parents’ multiplex existence.
Even more disposable and blatantly money-grabbing than those previous two-disc Diet Golden Collections, if that’s possible.
Mizoguchi’s most widely heralded film is a mysterious, incantatory, and gorgeous parable.
Mizoguchi’s film is far from chivalrous, but that doesn’t stop it from being one of cinema’s most austere male weepies.
Romero is committed to un-snarky examinations of life along the border between suburbia and rural America.
Instead of taking an indirect sociological tack, the film opts for fairly transparent post-Graduate countercultural hot-button topics.
Anchor Bay’s criminal indifference to the original aspect ratios negate their DVD debut.
Might be the only ’70s film featuring the Army that isn’t even worth unpacking for political subtext.
As tacky as it is compulsively divalicious, Lady Sings the Blues whitewashes a major talent in service of a moderate one.
Rabbits don’t have vocal cords, so Big Science can’t hear them scream.
As those un-Holiday raised arms attest, it’s all Diana Ross up in there.
Some movies defy criticism and inspire reactive critical insanity.
Cameron’s dialogue was wrong. With Titanic, he clearly discovered that it is a woman’s vagina that is a deep ocean of many secrets.
The new editions will cut you to the quick. Angela Lansbury’s incessant voiceovers will just cut your eardrums.
James Cameron’s film is as perverse as it is completely guileless.