When everything comes crashing down, as it always does in lives manufactured rather than lived, what are you left with, to whom do you turn?
Viva is great camp because it’s so over the top—pushes the envelope in all directions—while remaining dryly and wickedly deadpan.
Would anyone want to sit through a film in which hunting and gathering takes precedence over defending one’s honor?
The film is so perfectly paced, taut, and engrossing that you barely notice when the two stories seamlessly intertwine.
One constantly feels the heavy hand of the director on top of the performers.
Martin McDonagh is the Quentin Tarantino of the theater, which is descriptive shorthand for something quite extraordinary.
Dmitriy Salita has the face of an angel and the hands of a devil.
This awards season may be the year of knocked-up chicks and orange tic-tacs.
3Ality Digital Production chose the right band as its subject and put the right woman in charge of executing it.
The film is a could-have-been camp classic, the tragic victim of an inability to revel in its own sense of humor.
Zellweger’s generic, front-page-ready, girl-next-door smile is outshone by the desperation in Minnelli’s eyes when Sally sings.
The many critics who panned Myra Breckinridge decades ago when it was first released were as clueless as John Huston’s Buck Loner.
The film sets out to steal some of that J.K. Rowling magic and sprinkle it over Philip Pullman’s series of fantasy novels.
Only at the end does Juno actually work as a film and not merely as an acting/writing showcase.
I’m Not There merely adds up to a series of colorful set pieces.
Watching Anton Corbijn’s sumptuously shot Control, the wisdom of Werner Herzog filled my head.
Lee will never be Wong, and that’s okay.