Grave Encounters is akin to being trapped in a continual loop of horror-movie tropes.
David Lowery’s debut feature is long on silence and laden with a mood of oppressive dread.
The film works its tired conceit with maximum patience and minimal inventiveness.
The film is less interested in questions of photojournalistic ethics than the emotional and psychological suffering of its four white South Africans in apartheid-torn 1994.
As befitting a third sequel that plays by the “rules” of remakes, Scream 4 proves doubly redundant and uninspired.
The result of this uncritical portrait is confirmation that few things kill a buzz as severely as unwarranted self-pity.
As evinced by his debut feature, writer-director Max Winkler is clearly going through a Wes Anderson phase.
Wrecked is a hollow genre variation on 127 Hours.
This is the bleak, crazy, postmodern superhero saga that Kick-Ass aspired to be, which doesn’t prevent it from being sluggish, derivative, and beyond obvious.
Duncan Jones’s fascination with dueling identities continues with Source Code.
To endure the film is to experience the mind-numbing limits of a goofy one-note joke.
El Velador doesn’t pass judgment or manipulate emotionally, instead choosing simply to consider the arduousness of survival in a land wracked by slaughter.
The film uses copious dramatic recreation-and-cartoon-graphic gimmickry to mask his vacuously celebratory POV.
If familiarity occasionally breeds disenchantment, the game’s design is so sharp as to at least refine clichés.
Zack Snyder offers a peek inside his head, which turns out to be a vomatorium of pop culture’s every geeky element.
Art and environment are passionately intertwined in Microphone, as are, to a less successful extent, traditional notions of fiction and nonfiction cinema.
The problem with the film, as before, is that it’s rarely as lively and funny as it should be.
Margin Call loves speechifying, but the film is far more assured when lingering in the silence of its morally compromised characters.
Tyrannosaur never convincingly justifies its pessimistic gender-warfare worldview.
As any fan of Behind the Music knows, tales of rock-star drugging have only two possible outcomes.