It’s got more false-façade performances than you could ever hope for.
“Sweets to the sweet.” And societal disgrace and hot, interracial, interspatial romancing to the smug.
Bernard Rose creates a startlingly effective shocker that gains power upon further, sleepless-night reflection.
The double album reveals the popping seams of a band that had the pressure of an entire fissuring generational/political gap on its back.
Writer-director Guy Maddin’s Cowards Bend the Knee is paradoxically retrograde and ultramodern.
Showgirls is truly one of the only ’90s films that treats pop culture as a vibrant field of social economics and cerebral pursuit.
Showgirls is undoubtedly the think-piece object d’art of its time.
The album is an utterly guileless celebration of the pop diva as shape-shifting drama queen.
The Tipping Point might just be the Roots’s most jovial effort yet.
Raymond Chandler might have scoffed at the gauze of Hollywood, but Murder, My Sweet is crawling with grunty RKO expressionism.
It’s one of the rare film noirs where the visual panache almost matches the stoolie loquaciousness.
Luckily the album’s sound is as intriguingly stripped down as the Crossfire bits are jacked up.
So .38-caliber erections aren’t exactly as subversive as they once used to be. Gun Crazy is still drenched in Lewis’s B-movie finery.
It’s a damned good thing that Joseph H. Lewis had as exciting a visual flair and as much a taste for zero-flab pacing as he did.
It’s one of the most lazily framed mainstream films in history, but Warner’s video transfer looks truly wonderful.
Prince reminded the crowd of what a true talent was capable of, throwing the town’s biggest block party, a celebration of musicality.
As with any Mel Brooks film, success depends almost solely on the strength of his cast.
Practically every trait that would come to signify the art of De Palma is at play in the film, many of them, natch, in direct conflict with another.
I Feel For You is a true pop touchstone.
Everything falls dutifully into place.