Steven Soderbergh takes a macro approach to the scandal, though the results, with rare exception, are vexingly micro.
The film is one that might have been dreamed up by one of the cynical douche bros from the Hangover during a blacked-out stupor.
Waititi is incapable of dealing with the twin horrors of oppression and indoctrination beyond cheap-seats sentimentality and joke-making.
It’s not hard to parallel David/Dickens’s head-spinningly intricate descriptors with Iannucci’s own prodding, poetically vulgar rhetoric.
Every serious narrative beat in the film is ultimately undercut by pro-forma storytelling, or by faux-improvised humor.
Now Fassbinder’s 15-hour-plus epic runs at 25fps, as per the original German television broadcast.
M. Night Shyamalan’s film is aimed at an audience from whom he cringingly craves fealty.
There’s barely enough substance in Destroyer to support an Aesop’s fable, let alone a Los Angeles crime epic.
The film receives one of the best blockbuster home-video releases of the year—and just in time for the holiday season.
The festival doesn’t try to keep glamour at a pronounced distance from anything that might be considered unsightly.
You may admire the construction of certain moments more than you feel them, or Boy Erased as a whole, in your bones.
The arc of La Flor‘s first three episodes, in particular, suggests someone continually working and reworking the film of their dreams.
Chemistry counts for something, and Robert Redford and Sissy Spacek have it in spades in The Old Man & the Gun.
If Beale Street Could Talk is at its most potent in the scenes where human frailty and the specter of injustice come more elliptically to the surface.
A few too many on-the-nose needle drops make Beautiful Boy play like a schmaltz-infused music-video-cum-alarmist-anti-drug-PSA.
There’s barely a single scare in this Halloween that isn’t undermined by some forced bit of funniness.
Who knew that Will Tippin from Alias and Mother Monster had this much spark between them?
The supplements on Kino’s Blu-ray offer a robust spectrum of perspectives on both Grace Jones as a performer and the film itself.
It all feels cheap, a far cry from what S. Craig Zahler can do when overseeing both a film’s words as well as its images.
Fallout’s action scenes are cleanly composed and easy to follow, and so abundant as to become monotonous.